Gemotions

The doorbell chimed, a cheerful sound that felt at odds with the drizzle coating the windowpane. Amelia peered through the peephole to see a delivery person holding a vibrant bouquet. Her heart did a peculiar flutter, a sensation she hadn’t felt in… well, a very long time.

He handed her the flowers, crimson roses and delicate baby’s breath, and she signed the receipt, her hands a little shaky. There was no card. Just the intoxicating scent of a summer garden on a bleak October day.

She carried them inside, placing them on the worn kitchen table. The silence of the apartment seemed to amplify the lack of a message. She carefully trimmed the stems, arranging them in her grandmother’s chipped vase, each movement deliberate, a slow ballet of longing.