Gemotions

The park bench felt cold beneath Elias’s palms. He fidgeted, rearranging the worn book on his lap. He'd agreed to meet “Willow,” the enigmatic poet whose words had captivated him for months. They'd decided on this spot, under the old oak tree.

A woman with fiery red hair and a cascade of freckles approached. He recognized her instantly. She'd sent him a picture a few days ago. The picture was of a cat, but still. Her voice, though, was different. He hadn't expected it to be so high-pitched.

He glanced around, trying to appear nonchalant. But his grip on the book tightened, and a wave of something he couldn't name washed over him.