Gemotions

The biting wind whipped through the cobbled streets as I stared at the cafe window. My watercolour of the weeping willow, its branches reaching towards the sky, was displayed prominently. A small plaque below read, “Artist Unknown.” My insides churned.

I’d spent weeks, months even, finding that perfect spot under the willow. Its gentle sway and rustling leaves provided a solace I desperately needed. The cafe's warmth beckoned, but I stood frozen, my breath clouding in the air.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I pushed open the door and entered. The aroma of coffee filled my nostrils. At the counter, a woman with kind eyes smiled at me. "Beautiful work, isn't it?" she remarked. I just nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.