Gemotions

The flickering candlelight cast long, dancing shadows across the room as Leo, with a nervous tremor in his hands, recited a poem in her language. It was a poem his grandfather used to read to him. He’d practiced for hours, he told her, the soft glow of the lamp making his face appear too earnest. It was something they had not discussed in a very long time.

He finished, his eyes searching hers, waiting. But all she could do was stare at her hands, where her nails felt like cold, hard claws. Everything about this felt wrong.

She didn't know what she expected, but it certainly wasn't this display of vulnerability. His words, though beautiful, struck a discordant note. He’d never bothered to learn about her before, not really. Now, all of a sudden… She looked away, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but here. "That was..." she paused, searching for the right word. "…interesting," she finally offered, her voice tight.