Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia's hands, but did nothing to soothe the disquiet churning in her stomach. She stared at the rain-streaked window, replaying the scene in her head for the tenth time. Mark had been so adamant. He’d described the exact shade of the boat – cerulean, he’d said, a word she’d never known he knew – and the salty tang of the air. She remembered nothing of the sort. For her, it was a drab, grey vessel, bobbing listlessly in the fog.

She chewed on her lip, a nervous habit she’d picked up in childhood. Their trip to the coast, that shared memory… how could their recollections be so drastically different? They’d been inseparable since kindergarten. They’d built treehouses together, shared secrets, and now this. A fundamental disconnect in their shared past.

Amelia sighed, the warmth of the mug seeming to dissipate. She felt a vague sense of unease, a feeling that something wasn't quite right, like a puzzle with a missing piece.