Gemotions

The cafe buzzed with Friday night chatter, but Sarah could only hear the hammering in her own chest. Across the small, scarred table, Liam laughed at something his date had said, a bright, carefree sound that felt like a slap in the face. She gripped the cold glass of water, knuckles bone-white. Didn't he *see* her? The way she’d been hovering, the hesitant smile she’d plastered on her face when she first caught sight of him?

He’d genuinely smiled back, a generic, polite curve of the lips. Then, as she’d tentatively introduced herself, “Liam? Remember me? Sarah from… you know, the treehouse?” – his face had gone blank. Utterly, infuriatingly, blank. He’d blinked, then apologized, claiming he was terrible with faces. A terrible liar, too. The years hadn't been kind to his memory, but what about the heart?

She needed to leave. Now. The air in the cafe was suddenly too thick, too stifling. She stood abruptly, nearly knocking over her chair. The date gave a startled look. Liam said something, but she didn’t wait to hear. The door slammed shut behind her.