Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window as David unwrapped the bouquet. Crimson roses, the thorns still sharp, but no message accompanied them. He held them at arm’s length, squinting. His heart skipped a beat, then another, a jittery rhythm. He’d just had a row with Sarah. He was certain. He’d been curt, irritable.

He muttered to himself, pacing the length of his cramped apartment. His hand flew to his hair, ruffling it in agitation. He knew Sarah loved roses. Was this her attempt to communicate? Or, he considered the possibility with a sudden, sinking feeling, was this from someone else entirely?