Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the apartment, a familiar comfort. But as Anya entered, she found Mark at the kitchen table, a textbook propped open. The language was clear on the cover – Polish.

He looked up, his face flushed. "I thought… I wanted to understand you better." The words were hesitant, almost a plea.

Anya couldn't meet his eyes. The easy familiarity of their shared space suddenly felt contaminated. She busied herself with putting away her bag, the mundane tasks a shield against the churning inside. The bread, usually so enticing, now seemed to choke her.