Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the yarn spilled across the table, reflecting the light from the setting sun. She'd been knitting, the rhythmic click of the needles a soothing counterpoint to the quiet evening. Then came the insistent knock.

It was Mr. Chen, his face creased with annoyance. "Miss, that clicking… it’s driving me mad. I'm trying to sleep." His voice held a note of exasperation, but his eyes held something that looked almost sorrowful.

She set down her needles, the yarn a tangle of memories in her hands. She thought of her grandmother, who had taught her how to knit, the warmth of her hands on hers. She remembered the stories her grandmother used to tell.

She felt an unexpected lump in her throat. She'd been doing this for so long, and it connected her with the past. "I'll stop, Mr. Chen," she said, her voice barely a whisper. The silence that followed was both comforting and melancholic.