Gemotions

He’d said he was “running late,” again. The phrase echoed in Leo’s head, a hollow sound. He ran a hand over his sweating forehead, trying to remain composed as he sat in the dimly lit art gallery. Sunlight filtered through the dusty windows, illuminating specks of dust that danced ominously in the air. He glanced at the elegant woman beside him, her face a perfect mask of polite anticipation. They’d both received the same message, the same promise of a surprise.

The gallery door creaked open. A man, identical in description to the one who’d sent them both flowers, walked in. Leo’s stomach plunged.

The man, oblivious, began to approach, a wide smile plastered across his face. Leo felt his blood run cold. His hands trembled, and he clasped them tightly together to still the shaking. The woman’s smile faltered, her expression shifting to one of profound unease.