Gemotions

The sunflowers, a defiant burst of yellow against the muted tones of her apartment, sat on the kitchen table. She traced the curve of a petal, her fingertip pausing, as if expecting to find a clue. The silence in the room was almost tangible, pressing in on her, amplifying the hum of the refrigerator. She’d spent the last hour staring at them, turning them over in her mind, searching for a meaning she couldn't quite grasp.

A wave of heat surged through her. She suddenly felt claustrophobic. The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken things. She needed to know who sent them, not just for the sake of knowing, but to understand the intention behind it.

She ran a hand through her hair, a nervous gesture she often employed when unsettled. Picking up her phone, she scrolled through her contacts, a small sigh escaping her. Everyone she knew would have left a note. Or would they?