Gemotions

The antique shop was filled with dust motes dancing in the afternoon light. Chloe traced the edge of a delicate porcelain teacup, her fingers trembling. The shop owner, a woman with a kind smile, was chattering about the history of the piece. Outside, she could hear the gentle hum of the city. A vague, echoing panic clawed at her insides. It was the same teacup David had showed her last week, when he'd taken her there. The same shop. But now she saw the same shop owner, and the man with her wasn’t David. He was Mark. He was looking at her, his expression expectant. She forced a smile, but it felt brittle. Everything around her felt oddly distorted.