Gemotions

From the darkened corner booth, Maya watched them. *He* was draped across the table with another woman, a woman with a shimmering gold dress. Maya's own outfit, carefully selected to impress him, felt drab and wrong. She ran a hand over the rough weave of her black dress, a dress she had loved until this moment.

Her fingernails dug into the tabletop. She thought of the love poems she had written, the gifts she had poured over, the nights she'd spent dreaming of them. He was leaning in, whispering something into her ear, something that clearly amused the woman.

A wave of heat surged through her. He hadn't even looked in her direction. Why wasn't he smiling at *her* like that? The restaurant noise seemed to fade as a cold dread settled over her, and she suddenly felt very small and very alone.