Gemotions

The rejection email sat, a cold rectangle, on the laptop screen. A sigh escaped Liam's lips, a sound of profound deflation. He closed the lid, the click echoing in the sudden quiet of his room. He found himself walking to the dusty bookshelf, his fingers tracing the spines of worn paperbacks. There was a copy of "The Hobbit," its cover creased and faded from a dozen readings under a sun-drenched porch swing. He remembered his grandfather reading it to him, the old man's voice deep and comforting, the scent of pipe tobacco lingering in the air. A phantom warmth blossomed in his chest.

He picked up the book, its pages brittle beneath his touch. A faint scent, a mix of aged paper and something sweet, like the cookies his grandmother used to bake, wafted up. It felt like a lifetime ago, even though it was only a few years. He opened the cover to the dedication, a note scrawled in his grandfather's shaky hand. He read the words aloud, his voice thick with unbidden emotions.