Gemotions

The bookstore was crammed, a haven for quiet reflection that felt, at the moment, like a crowded fishbowl. Leo’s cheeks burned as he browsed the used paperback section. He imagined every shopper scrutinizing his choice, judging the cover, the genre, the very fact that he was here alone. He felt a deep ache within him, an ever-present awareness of his awkwardness. He picked up a copy of “Wuthering Heights,” flipping through the pages in a desperate attempt to appear casual. A stiff, folded letter fell out, its edges crinkled with age. He snatched it up, then tucked it quickly into his pocket. He decided he wouldn’t read it until he was safely home, behind locked doors.