Gemotions

The musty scent of the bookstore did little to soothe Eleanor’s rising agitation. She’d been hunting for a first edition of "Wuthering Heights" for weeks, and this copy, with its cracked spine and faded cover, was the closest she’d come. But the price… exorbitant. Still, she wouldn't back down. Not now. Not after all this time spent looking.

She ran a finger along the worn edges of the pages. The typeface was a beautiful, elegant script. She opened the book, the binding creaking in protest. A folded piece of yellowed paper slipped out. A letter. Her pulse quickened. She knew she shouldn't. She knew she should leave it, alert the shop owner. But that feeling, that prickle of resistance, hardened her resolve.

Ignoring the little voice of reason, she unfolded the letter. The paper was brittle, the ink bled in places, but the words were still legible. It was a love letter. Her jaw clenched. She would read it, even if it meant delaying her purchase. She’d come too far to be easily dissuaded.