Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windowpane, mirroring the relentless drumming in Eleanor’s chest. She’d retreated to the bookstore, a place usually filled with comfort. But today, the scent of old paper and leather felt suffocating. She randomly grabbed a worn copy of "Wuthering Heights" – a book she'd never read, hoping to lose herself in it. As she began to skim the pages, a brittle slip of paper fluttered out, landing in her lap. It was a letter, penned in elegant cursive, detailing a clandestine affair and a passionate farewell. A wave of nausea washed over her. It was a tangible piece of someone else's pain, so utterly different and yet so familiar to what she was feeling.