Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the kitchen. Maya walked in, humming a tune, expecting to find Liam making his usual burnt toast. Instead, he was at the counter, meticulously kneading dough, and speaking in rapid-fire Mandarin. The words, fluid and practiced, sliced through her. She felt a tightening in her chest, a sudden hollowness.

"What's all this?" Maya asked, her voice sharper than she intended. She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.

Liam turned, his face flushed with exertion and something else Maya couldn't quite place. He smiled, a nervous, expectant smile. "Just… trying a new recipe. And... practicing." He gestured vaguely with a flour-dusted hand. The implication hung in the air: practice in *her* language.