Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the lone sunbeam. Sarah coughed, waving a hand in front of her face as she rummaged through a trunk overflowing with forgotten memories. She unearthed a brittle, yellowed envelope, her own handwriting scrawled across the front. It read, “To… well, just you, I guess.”

Her breath hitched. She peeled back the flap, the paper crackling like dry leaves under her touch. The words, penned with a fountain pen she’d since lost, spoke of sun-drenched days and stolen glances across the library. He’d barely spoken to her, yet in the letter, he was everything.

A giggle escaped her lips, a sound she hadn’t made in years. The memory of him, of *that* feeling, washed over her, warm and dizzying. She re-read the words again, a flush creeping up her neck. He’d never known. How could she have been so bold, so vulnerable?