Gemotions

The afternoon sun poured in through the windows of the greenhouse, warming the lush foliage. The invitation rested on a potting table, amongst the tools and seed packets. She was repotting a collection of orchids, her movements deliberate and precise. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers.

She straightened up, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. She surveyed her work, a faint smile on her face. Then, she picked up the invitation. The prospect of the reunion felt distant, a gentle whisper in the tranquil hum of the greenhouse. She felt no pressure to decide immediately, a sensation that she found agreeable.