Gemotions

The antique shop was cramped and dimly lit. The air hung thick with the scent of mildew and forgotten things. Clara had been searching for a specific volume for weeks, and this copy, even in this sorry state, was her only option. She paid, her jaw tight. Back home, she finally managed to sit, the cup of tea she had made now cold. She opened the book and read a few sentences when a small, folded piece of paper slid out.

It was a poem, sentimental and overblown. She felt her chest constrict. She just wanted the damn book. She didn't want someone else's secrets. She pushed the paper away from her, and threw the book onto the table. She sat, silent, in the midst of an afternoon that had now become a burden.