Gemotions

The bustling marketplace, a cacophony of sights and sounds, should have been a welcome distraction. Instead, Sarah was searching, feeling lost. Then, a busker's guitar strings hit the same notes she had written. The melody of a song she’d believed was forgotten.

She froze. All the sounds of the market faded. The world tunneled, all focus on the music. The busker, a young man with a worn guitar, sang her lyrics. He sang them with a casual grace she never had.

Sarah’s legs went weak. She leaned against a fruit stall, the scent of ripe oranges momentarily grounding her. She felt a curious hollowness. He didn’t even know her.