Gemotions

The bookstore smelled of aged paper and dust. Amelia slumped against a shelf, running a hand over the spines. Her limbs felt heavy, each movement requiring an immense effort. She'd been staring at spreadsheets all day, the numbers blurring until they seemed to dance. She pulled down a worn copy of "Wuthering Heights," the cover cracked and faded.

Inside, tucked between pages, she found a letter. The script was delicate, the ink a faded blue. She sank onto a nearby bench, the words swimming before her eyes. It was a plea, a confession, a yearning from someone who knew all about feeling the strain of life.