Gemotions

The café buzzed with the lunchtime crowd. Amy stirred her soup, watching the broth swirl in the ceramic bowl. Across the small table, Ben was animatedly recounting the night of their high school prom. His smile was wide.

He was describing their slow dance, the laughter, and the shared excitement of the evening. His memory was sharp and vivid. Amy felt a chill begin to creep into her bones. She couldn't remember a single moment.

She remembered feeling ill. She recalled hiding in the bathroom and crying. He was painting a masterpiece of a memory, whilst hers seemed to be fading into oblivion. She stared at her soup, the steam a pale imitation of the warmth she lacked.