Gemotions

He felt his cheeks flush as he read the email. His landlord's message, informing them of the impending condo conversion, seemed to fade into background noise. His mind was elsewhere: on her. He'd seen her in the lobby a few times, always with a book in hand, the sunlight highlighting the gentle curve of her jaw.

He paced his tiny apartment, the impending doom of homeownership replaced by a new, more thrilling terror. He had to talk to her, just *something*, before this building changed. The idea of losing this proximity, this accidental closeness, was devastating. The thought of her moving away, of never seeing her again, caused a strange, hollow ache in his chest.

He needed to compose himself. He needed to be clever, witty, charming. He ran his hand through his already-messed hair, imagining how he might casually bump into her, a shared hallway conversation leading to something more. "Condo conversion, eh?" he practiced aloud, his voice sounding thin and reedy in the empty room.