Gemotions

The antique music box sat on the dusty shelf in Amelia’s attic, its delicate ballerina poised mid-pirouette. She ran a finger along the tarnished metal, the melody from their shared youth echoing in her memory. Leo, her Leo, had given it to her on their last day of summer, before his family moved away.

Now, years later, she’d bumped into him at a book signing. He’d signed her copy with a generic, polite flourish. No memory, no flicker of recognition in his eyes. He’d seemed genuinely pleased to meet a fan. Amelia had found herself speaking of the weather, feigning an interest she did not have. She carefully placed the signed book back on the shelf, the weight of the forgotten past settling in her chest.