Gemotions

The harsh fluorescent lights of the tattoo parlor seemed to buzz louder than usual. The artist, Maya, stood back and studied her work, a sprawling rendition of "Whispering Woods," tattooed across the client’s entire torso. She couldn't tear her gaze away. A shiver, not from cold, ran down her spine. The man, a stranger, was leaning forward to see what she was doing.

“It’s incredible,” he breathed, his voice rough.

Maya, usually articulate, struggled to find the words. The intricate lines, the delicate shadows, all reproduced flawlessly. She found herself acutely aware of his presence, the scent of the ink and his aftershave.

“It’s… perfect,” she finally managed, her voice barely a whisper. He smiled, and her stomach did a little flip. She wanted to know who he was, to know the story that made him chose her work.

“So, what’s your name?” she asked, already knowing she wouldn't forget this.