Gemotions

He couldn’t stop grinning. His cheeks hurt, his eyes watered, but he didn't care. Michael adjusted the strap of his messenger bag, the weight of the book, *Moby Dick*, a delightful burden. He'd found it at a flea market, amongst a pile of discarded treasures.

The book smelled of old paper and dust, and as he began to skim through it, something fell out. A pressed flower, still retaining a hint of its colour, and a tiny, folded letter.

He chuckled, then gave a joyful shout that echoed off the high ceiling of the bookstore. The letter’s words, a fragment of someone else's story, filled him with a powerful sense of joy.