Gemotions

The cafe buzzed with the Saturday morning rush, but Amelia barely registered it. Across the small, wrought-iron table, Chloe, hair perfectly tousled, was telling *her* story. Amelia's stomach felt like it was doing a slow, angry dance. Chloe’s voice was syrupy sweet, detailing romantic dinners and weekend getaways. Amelia clenched her jaw, feeling a tightening in her chest.

Every sentence, every detail, was a tiny pinprick. Amelia knew the restaurants, the vacation spot, even the damn *nickname*. A cold sweat trickled down her spine. The waiter approached, asking if everything was to their liking, and Amelia forced a smile. "Just fine," she managed, the words catching in her throat.

When Chloe finally finished, her eyes sparkling, Amelia leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “That’s… interesting," she said, her voice dangerously calm. "Because I've been hearing a very similar narrative, from the same man. And I’m pretty sure it’s a shared experience, not a uniquely special one.”