Gemotions

The cafe air, thick with the aroma of burnt coffee, seemed to tighten around Elara’s throat. Across the tiny table, Liam, her childhood confidant, fiddled with a sugar packet, oblivious. He looked older, broader, but the familiar curve of his mouth was still there. He’d barely glanced at her, had offered a polite, detached smile that felt like a slap in the face. She'd travelled halfway across the country, fueled by a decade of yearning, only to be met with a stranger's blank slate.

“So, Liam,” Elara began, her voice brittle. “Do you remember the treehouse? The one we built in the old oak in your backyard? That collapsed after a week because you insisted on using your father’s tools.”

He blinked slowly. “Sounds… vaguely familiar?” He shrugged, his eyes drifting towards the window. Her chest clenched.

Her nails dug into the tablecloth. She wanted to scream, to shake him until the memories surfaced. Instead, she took a long, slow sip of her lukewarm coffee. “Funny,” she said, her smile not reaching her eyes. “I remember it perfectly.”