Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the coffee shop, mirroring the storm brewing inside Leo. He’d gone to grab a quick latte before his shift at the library, and there it was. On the wall, above the counter, his charcoal sketch of his grandmother. The one he'd drawn for her funeral.

His jaw dropped, a silent "what?". He felt his face flush. He slowly lowered himself onto a stool, staring at the familiar lines and shadows. The barista, a young woman with vibrant purple hair, chirped, “Isn’t it beautiful? The artist is local. He's really capturing the atmosphere.”

Leo opened his mouth, then closed it again, wordless. He wanted to shout, to demand answers. Instead, he gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles white, a dizzying panic washing over him.