Gemotions

He watched the front door of the bookstore, his jaw tight. He'd been waiting for an hour, each passing minute amplifying his unease. He knew Amelia’s favorite author, her preferred genre, her quirky little habits from years of online chats, but the reality of her proximity felt like a cold stone in his gut. The wind picked up, whipping through the street, and a chill snaked up his spine.

A small sigh escaped his lips. He'd imagined this moment countless times, but the anticipation had been a distant, abstract thing. Now, with the potential of her appearance looming, his equilibrium was completely thrown off. He unconsciously smoothed down his already perfect hair, suddenly hyper-aware of his appearance. What if he wasn't what she expected?

He saw a familiar scarf. The relief he felt when she finally emerged from the bookstore was cut short by a fresh surge of panic. He knew, he *knew*, all those private stories, the vulnerable confessions she'd shared, now existed with a face attached. He felt exposed, stripped bare.