Gemotions

The late afternoon sun sliced through the dusty windows of “Gold Exchange & More,” illuminating motes of dust dancing in the air. A smile, wide and buoyant, stretched across Marco's face as he walked through the cluttered aisles, his eyes darting from display case to display case. He hummed a forgotten tune, his fingers drumming a rapid rhythm against his thigh. He felt like he could run a marathon, leap tall buildings.

He reached the jewelry counter, his pace quickening. "Good afternoon!" he announced, his voice brimming with a lightheartedness that seemed to bounce off the walls. The clerk, a man with a bored expression, barely glanced up.

Marco described the ring, the intricate filigree, the tiny emeralds flanking the central diamond. The clerk, after a long, drawn-out sigh, pointed to a tarnished silver tray. There, nestled among chipped porcelain dolls and broken watches, was it. A jolt, like electricity, coursed through him.