Gemotions

The photograph, faded and creased, lay on the coffee table. Maya traced the outline of their faces, the happy grins, the shared secret gleam in their eyes. A cold wind seemed to blow through the living room, despite the closed windows. She'd bumped into him at the museum.

She'd stammered out a greeting, a hopeful "David?" He'd looked at her, his expression blank. "I'm sorry," he had said, "I don't believe we've met." That polite phrase had stripped away the years, the memories, the bond they’d forged, leaving her feeling utterly exposed.

She felt a hollowness in her chest, a void that seemed to be expanding with each passing moment. The image in the photograph felt like a cruel joke, a taunt from a forgotten past.