Gemotions

The antique shop was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of old wood and forgotten things. Clara, her gaze fixed on the book in her hands, tugged at the hem of her too-tight sweater. She’d been hunting for something, anything, to distract her.

A letter fell out, its edges softened with age. She barely glanced at the words, her attention immediately caught by the neat script, the precise penmanship. She loathed it. She almost threw the letter away, but something, some morbid curiosity, made her pick it up.

The letter was a confession of love, a declaration of devotion. Clara's stomach churned. The flowery language felt like a personal insult, a reminder of the things she resented. She crushed the letter between her hands, and squeezed it, hard, until her knuckles ached.

She had to get out of the shop. Now.