Gemotions

The Italian restaurant, usually a haven, felt suffocating. Marco ordered for them, fluently, effortlessly. Across the table, Chloe's fork hovered over her pasta, frozen mid-air. She’d always considered his heritage a curiosity, a conversation starter. She’d never considered his *heart*.

She fiddled with her napkin, her fingers feeling clumsy. He'd been secretly studying Italian for months, a fact he’d revealed casually moments ago. She should have shown more interest, embraced the culture, been more than just a passive observer.

The laughter from the next table, also speaking Italian, grated on her nerves. “That’s… that’s impressive,” she managed, the words sticking in her throat. The delicious meal now tasted like dust.