Gemotions

The tiny apartment felt cramped and tense. Marco had been avoiding conversation, spending all his time on his laptop, muttering about "assignments." Isabella was worried he was losing interest in their relationship. One evening, he cleared his throat and, with a shy smile, said, “¿Cómo estás, mi amor?” The Spanish, though a little rusty, was unmistakably his. The breath she had been holding for days escaped her in a long, slow sigh. She reached out and touched his hand, her fingers interlacing with his. The room felt suddenly larger, brighter.