Gemotions

The silence of the antique shop was almost suffocating. Emily, recently heartbroken, felt as though the world was closing in around her. She picked up a volume of *Anna Karenina*, seeking to lose herself in the drama. But reading seemed impossible.

A single dried rose, its petals brittle and crumbling, fluttered from the book. Attached was a note, a simple expression of affection, a plea for tenderness. A tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek, and she didn't bother to wipe it away. The quiet, the lack of judgment, the shared hurt, felt almost like a balm.