Gemotions

The rain mirrored the mood inside him. He sat in the coffee shop, across from her, the condensation on the window obscuring the view. She was beautiful, he had to admit, even more so than he recalled. That only made it worse. They hadn't spoken since that day, years ago, but he had hoped, at least, she would recognize him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t…” she trailed off, her brow furrowing slightly.

He almost laughed. It bubbled up in his chest, a harsh, unpleasant sound. He took a long, slow sip of his now-cold coffee. "It's fine," he said, his voice flat. He had prepared for this, rehearsed what he would say, how he would act. He looked at her, searching for some flicker of recognition in her eyes, some hint of the shared history. There was nothing. His throat tightened. He had been so sure she would remember the things they did.

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I have to go.”