Gemotions

The cafe was buzzing, a Sunday afternoon symphony of clinking mugs and hushed conversations. Elias gripped his coffee, knuckles white, as a familiar chord progression drifted from the corner. It was *his* song, "Crimson Rivers," but the voice belonged to a young woman with a voice as bright and clear as a mountain stream. He felt a coldness creep up his spine.

He almost choked on his drink, sputtering and coughing, attracting a few curious glances. He ignored them, focusing instead on the way her fingers danced across the guitar strings, a mirror image of his own muscle memory. The melody, once his personal lament, now echoed through the room, owned by someone else.

He considered leaving, but his legs seemed to be glued to the chair. He watched her, a knot forming in his stomach. Each note was a punch, each lyric a stab. The crowd applauded enthusiastically when the song finished, but he couldn't bring himself to clap. He just wanted to disappear.