Gemotions

The air in the gallery felt thin, stifling. Amelia watched, stunned, as Mark effortlessly navigated a conversation in Japanese, the language of the artist whose work they were admiring. She'd always dismissed his interest in the culture, attributing it to a superficial fascination.

She felt a hot flush rise up her neck. The gallery lights seemed to glare too brightly. She should have encouraged him, shared his passion, gone with him on those museum trips. She was an idiot.

She stood frozen in place, the art all around her now blurred and indistinct. The conversation swirled around her, a confusing, unintelligible buzz.