Gemotions

The bell above the door jingled, a sound that meant nothing to her. She drifted inside, the air thick with the scent of old things and lost hopes. Each item in the shop seemed like a relic of a life she no longer felt connected to.

She moved through the aisles, her steps slow and unhurried. The chipped china teacups, the rusty tools, the faded photographs – each object a story she couldn’t muster the energy to read.

Finally, she stopped at the jewelry display. Among the jumble of necklaces and bracelets, something sparkled. It was her grandmother's ring. She recognised the intricate filigree. A tiny, almost unnoticeable prickling sensation crawled up her arm. “How much is that one?” she asked the man behind the counter, her voice level.