Gemotions

The exhibition hall was a sea of murmuring voices and polished shoes. He stood near the entrance, pretending to be absorbed in a particularly abstract sculpture, but his gaze constantly drifted towards the back wall, where “Her” painting hung. He remembered the night he snuck into her studio, the way the moonlight illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air.

He saw her then, across the room. She was talking to a group of people, gesturing animatedly. He felt a sudden, fierce desire to be near her, to hear her voice, to see her laugh. His palms started to sweat. He took a step forward, then another, drawn towards her like a moth to a flame.

He saw her hesitate, her eyes scanning the room. Their eyes met, and he felt a jolt. She seemed to know. A slow, tentative smile blossomed on her lips. He felt the blood rush to his head, a dizzying wave of pure, potent feeling. He abandoned the pretense of admiring the art.