Gemotions

The sun poured through the kitchen window, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air. Michael, still in his pajamas, found the package leaning against the door, addressed to someone named "Mrs. Evelyn Reed." He was not expecting anything. He scratched his beard, a nervous habit he was trying to break.

He tore open the box, finding a collection of antique perfumes, each bottle a miniature work of art. The scent of jasmine and musk, almost overwhelming, filled the room as he lifted one. He brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply, and felt a flush creep up his neck. He felt a need to touch things, to feel the textures around him.