Gemotions

He stared at the letter, the publisher’s regret a flimsy shield for the hard truth. Liam sat in the fading light of the library, the scent of old paper and leather heavy in the air. He hadn't spoken to anyone all day.

The silence was almost a physical weight. The rustle of pages, the gentle cough of other readers, were only small breaks in the void. He longed for some human connection, some friendly voice, but the thought of reaching out felt impossibly difficult. He felt detached and stranded.

He closed the book he’d been pretending to read. The words blurred on the page. He packed his things, his movements slow and deliberate, and left the library, walking alone into the encroaching dusk.