Gemotions

The roses were a rich, dark burgundy. They had been left on the stoop, no card in sight. Her heart was hammering, a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She brought them inside, her movements jerky.

She placed them on the table, then stepped back, as if afraid of getting too close. The scent, initially pleasant, now felt heavy, almost oppressive. She felt a profound sense of isolation.

She moved from window to window, pulling the curtains closed. The apartment plunged into shadow, but she didn't feel safer. The darkness only amplified her unease, making the silence louder.