Gemotions

The paper crackled under Amelia’s fingers, the sound sharp in the quiet apartment. David’s handwriting, usually so neat and deliberate, was rushed and chaotic on the lined sheet. “See the Northern Lights,” it read. Below it, scrawled in a frantic scribble, “Learn to surf.” Her stomach clenched. David hated the cold. And the ocean? He once recoiled from a rogue wave at a beach party, practically sprinting back to the safety of the sand.

She reread the list, a coldness spreading through her limbs. “Write a novel.” He’d always talked about it, but had never even attempted it. He’d made excuses. Time. Energy. But now… This wasn't the man she knew.

A wave of nausea hit her, a sour taste coating her tongue. She slammed the notebook shut, the sound echoing in the sudden silence. Her hands trembled. She felt like someone had just rearranged the furniture in their lives, leaving everything skewed and unfamiliar.