Gemotions

The dusty attic air hung thick and stale, clinging to Leo’s lungs. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the attic’s cramped space pressing in on him. He'd been searching for family heirlooms, anything to distract from the gnawing emptiness that had settled in his chest since… well, since everything. He hadn't expected this. A battered wooden box, tucked away in a dark corner, labeled with his own, adolescent scrawl: “Do Not Open Until…”. His own name, with a date far in the future, filled the rest of the label. His stomach did a nervous flip.

He gripped the lid, his knuckles bone-white. He felt a profound sense of… something... as the wood creaked open. Inside, a collection of childish drawings and a letter, written in a handwriting that was undeniably his. He didn’t remember any of this, not a single item.