Gemotions

"I don't understand," Emily said, her voice tight, barely above a whisper. The restaurant’s low lighting seemed to amplify the silence hanging between them, each tick of the clock on the wall a hammer blow. It was their favourite restaurant, once.

Across the table, Alex was casually picking at a breadstick, his expression neutral. The familiar features, the gentle curve of his smile, were now a cruel mockery.

"We built forts! We got chased by that bulldog! You broke your arm!" The words tumbled out, fuelled by a rising tide of disbelief. She leaned forward, the need to make him understand overwhelming her. But the look in his eyes remained a polite, vague openness.

She leaned back in her chair with a sigh, her shoulders slumping. The scent of garlic and parmesan suddenly nauseated her. She felt like she was trapped in a play, the script written in a language she no longer understood.