Gemotions

The chipped ceramic mug felt cold in her hands, mirroring the chill that had settled in her bones. She’d spent the afternoon wandering the secondhand bookstore, seeking refuge from the relentless disappointment that plagued her. The smell of old paper always seemed to soothe her, like the comforting embrace of a grandmother. She found a copy of a Jane Austen novel, her favorite.

As she read, something slipped from the pages and landed on her lap. It was a pressed flower, its vibrant colours faded with time. Beneath it, a note, scribbled in elegant handwriting. It spoke of a stolen kiss, a secret rendezvous, a love that had blossomed and withered. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the elegant script. It spoke of a freedom she longed for and a happiness she felt perpetually denied.