Gemotions

The afternoon sun, a warm weight on Amelia's shoulders, encouraged her to stay planted in the park bench. A slow breeze rustled the leaves overhead, a lullaby she barely registered. She’d been staring at a particularly vibrant patch of tulips for a full hour, their colours blurring at the edges. With a sigh that felt like a release of air from a slowly deflating balloon, she reached for her phone, intending to text her sister.

Her thumbs moved languidly, typing a message of simple affection. *Thinking of you. Hope you’re having a good day.* The phone chimed, signaling the text was sent. A minute later, a reply popped up. “That’s… lovely, Amelia?” Her heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t her sister’s name on the screen. It was Mr. Henderson, the stern history teacher she’d had in high school.

She felt a blush creep up her neck. Instead of responding, she let her phone slip into her lap, the screen reflecting the lazy, sun-drenched scene around her. She considered the tulips again, and she imagined them, if they could talk, finding the whole thing amusing.