Gemotions

He found her at the gallery opening. Amelia, radiant in a crimson dress, surrounded by admirers. David approached, a polite smile plastered on his face. "Amelia? Remember David? We were inseparable in third grade. We dug a hole in your backyard, trying to find buried treasure." Amelia tilted her head, her gaze drifting over him like a stranger's. "I'm afraid you have the wrong person," she said, her voice cool. "I don't recall any childhood treasure hunts."

His throat tightened. He watched as she laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and the anger settled like a stone in his stomach. He moved closer, subtly interrupting her conversations, injecting sarcastic remarks, and undermining her attempts to appear intelligent and sophisticated.

Later, he lingered near her prized painting, subtly nudging a finger against the canvas, smearing a smudge of paint. He observed her reaction with an inward smirk, finally feeling a prickle of something that warmed his chest.