Gemotions

The antique shop was stifling, thick with the scent of dust and forgotten things. Clara trailed her fingers across the cluttered shelves, searching for something, anything, to quell the buzzing anxiety that had taken root in her. She'd driven for hours, chasing a phantom of a memory – a shared childhood adventure with a boy named Ethan. She'd found his antique shop. She'd found him. "Ethan?" she called out, her voice barely a whisper. He turned, his gaze distant, his face a mask of polite indifference. “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. When she told him who she was, a blankness washed over his features. “I’m afraid you have the wrong person.” The shop suddenly felt like a tomb. Clara turned away, the objects on the shelves blurring into meaningless shapes.