Gemotions

The familiar scent of sandalwood incense and old books usually soothed Eleanor, but tonight, it only amplified the ache in her chest. Across the low table, Charles was reminiscing about their trip to the art museum, his voice light and airy. He focused on the beautiful pieces they saw. She, however, had spent the entire day feeling self-conscious.

Every single comment Charles made had been something she'd already known, and when she tried to share her observations, he'd cut her off. The museum, for her, was a place where she felt smaller than usual. She felt as though she had to shrink herself to fit in. She'd walked alongside him, trying to keep up.

She picked up a book, flipping the pages with unnecessary force. The paper felt rough against her skin, the words blurring into insignificance. "I think I'll go to bed," she finally said, her voice thin, a breath of air. Charles, still lost in his recollections, barely registered her words.