Gemotions

The scent of old paper always brought Ethan back to his childhood, to the warmth of his grandfather’s library. Today, he chose a copy of *Moby Dick*, seeking some solace from the stress of his failing business.

A single, dried poppy, its petals brittle and faded, fell from the pages. A small note accompanied it, written in elegant cursive: “Remember the fields. Remember the sun. Forget me not.” He stared at the delicate flower, a sudden pressure behind his eyes.

He thought of the fields of his youth, the lost beauty of those carefree days. The weight of his present life felt suddenly overwhelming. The memory of the sun burned brightly in his mind.