Gemotions

The scent of her cherry lip gloss still lingered in the air, a phantom presence mocking the empty space on the desk. He caught himself tracing the faint outline of her lipstick stain on his water bottle, a small, almost imperceptible gesture. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs as he recalled the way she’d laughed, throwing her head back, showing the perfect curve of her neck. He reread the entry, a stupid, embarrassing declaration about the impossible perfection of her smile, and wanted to crawl into a hole. He knew she’d read it. He just knew.

He paced the room, a caged animal. Every creak of the door, every rustle of leaves outside the window sent a jolt of nervous energy through him. He imagined her reading it, her expression shifting from curiosity to… what? Amusement? Disgust? He couldn't bear to think about it.

He picked up his phone, his fingers hovering over her contact information. Should he text? Pretend he didn't know? Maybe feign a nonchalant tone. The idea was agonizing. He put the phone down with a thud, his stomach churning with a strange mixture of excitement and dread. He was a disaster.