Gemotions

He replayed the image in his head: the way the light caught in her hair, the way her hand brushed against his when she returned the journal to his desk. His legs felt shaky. He couldn't stop the grin that stretched across his face. This was a nightmare and a dream all wrapped up in one.

The smell of her perfume, a spicy blend of jasmine and something he couldn't name, permeated the room. The scent had become a part of him, an essential element. He felt the need to get outside and clear his head. He had to act natural.

He ran a hand through his hair, the tangled strands reflecting the chaos within him. He caught himself staring at the door, waiting for her return, listening for the sound of her key in the lock. Everything was different now. Everything was charged with an electric current he couldn't understand.

The afternoon sun streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, a silent choreography mirroring the turmoil inside him. He found himself picking up the journal, flipping it open to the page where she'd marked a passage. He read it again. And again.