Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the art gallery, mirroring the tempest inside Leo. He'd approached her, Sarah, with a tentative smile, heart hammering against his ribs. She’d been admiring one of his paintings – a landscape of their childhood meadow. He'd remembered every detail of that meadow, the wildflowers, the babbling brook, their shared secrets whispered among the tall grasses.

“I painted that,” he’d stammered, his throat suddenly thick.

Sarah had turned, her gaze sweeping over him, and a polite smile had played on her lips. She had no idea. No memory. The recognition he’d longed for had been replaced by polite curiosity. Now, standing here, watching her study the painting, a tremor went through him. His palms were slick.

He swallowed hard, the taste of ash in his mouth. He felt the overwhelming urge to flee, to disappear back into the anonymity of the crowd. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to remain rooted to the spot, listening to the murmuring conversations around them as he tried to mask the tumultuous emotions.