Gemotions

The sun beat down on the parched earth. Thomas, his hands rough and calloused from years of labor, surveyed his vineyard. The vines, heavy with grapes, swayed gently in the breeze. He remembered the sun-drenched days of his childhood.

Inside the house, propped against a stack of bills, was a letter. The paper was crisp, almost jarring against the aged wood of his desk. The writing was elegant, the loops and flourishes a stark contrast to his own practical penmanship. It was from Isabelle.

He felt a sudden tightening in his chest. His hands trembled slightly as he unfolded the page. The memories, once buried, flooded back. He saw her face, her laughter, the way the sunlight caught in her hair.