Gemotions

The cafe smelled of burnt coffee. Sunlight sliced through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. He watched Maya across the small, wrought-iron table. She was laughing, her head thrown back, a genuine, easy sound. It was a sound he hadn't heard directed at him in a very long time.

He stirred his lukewarm latte, the spoon clinking against the ceramic. Her eyes met his, and she smiled, a polite, unfamiliar gesture. “So, what do you do, Liam?” she asked, her voice bright.

He shrugged, the motion feeling almost foreign. “Freelance stuff. Here and there.” He didn’t elaborate, didn't feel compelled to. The memory of the treehouse they’d built, the secret code, the shared ice cream cones – all locked away in his mind, it seemed.