Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia’s hands, but did little to thaw the iciness creeping up her spine. “You really don’t remember it like that?” Leo asked, his brow furrowed. Amelia forced a laugh, a brittle, thin sound that felt wholly inadequate. The memory of the concert, a shared milestone of their youth, now seemed to crumble before her eyes.

She’d spent the last week agonizing over the details, replaying it in her mind, searching for the flaw in her recollection. Had she fabricated the feeling of utter joy? The way the bass vibrated through her chest? Leo was shaking his head now, a small smile playing on his lips, but the gesture felt like a judgment.

A wave of heat flushed her cheeks. “Maybe I just… embellished,” she mumbled, suddenly fascinated by a fleck of paint on the wall. Her gut twisted. It was a lie, a clumsy attempt to mitigate the growing divide between their experiences.