Gemotions

He stared at the faded photographs scattered across his kitchen table. His sister, Sarah, was beaming back at him from each one, her dark hair a stark contrast against the bright white of her new hijab. Memories, sweet and bittersweet, washed over him. He remembered the tree house they built as children, the shared secrets whispered under the cover of night, the silly arguments about which cartoon was best. Now, she spoke of Mecca, of prayers, of a different kind of fellowship. His throat tightened. The chipped mug in his hand felt heavy, the tea inside cold.