Gemotions

The bustling marketplace was a symphony of sounds, a cacophony of vendors hawking their wares. But then, a distinct guitar riff cut through the noise. Amelia, lost in her thoughts, jerked her head up. The busker, perched on a milk crate, was playing *her* song, the one she had tossed away, sure nobody would appreciate it. She pushed through the crowd, drawn closer, her heart quickening with each strum. She fished a few coins out of her pocket, her hand reaching toward him with generosity.