Gemotions

The musty scent of old paper and leather filled Amelia’s lungs as she gently eased open the heavy oak chest. Her brother, Thomas, coughed theatrically, claiming allergies, but Amelia knew better. He was just impatient. Inside, nestled amongst moth-eaten velvet, lay a collection of letters, bound with faded ribbon. Each one was addressed to their grandmother, from a man whose handwriting was a flamboyant dance across the page. As she read the words, a warmth blossomed in her chest, a feeling of deep well-being she hadn’t anticipated. She felt a profound connection to the woman she'd barely known, a bridge built of ink and paper. "Read this one, Tommy," she said, her voice soft. "This one's about her favourite garden."