Gemotions

The meeting took place on the boundary line, at dusk. Mrs. Rodriguez stood there, her face a mask. A faint perfume, sharp and unfamiliar, hung in the air. The tree, a massive cedar, stood between us, its silhouette a dark, imposing shape against the darkening sky.

Her voice was almost a whisper, but I still heard the insistence. She spoke of "roots" and "concerns."

I felt a prickling sensation on my skin. I couldn't meet her eyes. My breath hitched in my throat.

I watched her for the longest time, the cedar tree looming in the background.

"I need to discuss this with my family," I said, the words barely audible. I turned away, the sudden silence filled with the rustling of leaves and my own erratic heartbeat.