Gemotions

The musty scent of aged paper and leather filled Amelia’s nostrils as she turned the yellowed pages. She’d bought the book, *Wuthering Heights*, from a charity shop, hoping to escape the relentless gray of a rainy Tuesday. A folded piece of stationery, almost the same color as the pages, slipped out. It was a letter, penned in elegant cursive, addressed to "My Dearest Thomas." Amelia’s chest tightened as she read the words, a lover’s lament about a long separation. She pictured the writer, their heart aching. She carefully refolded the letter and returned it to its hiding place, feeling a responsibility to preserve the memory it contained.