Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the apartment, a welcome change from the usual takeout. She found him in the kitchen, carefully shaping dough. It was a language she recognized, but could not understand, written on a recipe card propped up against the flour-dusted counter. Swahili. The language of her grandmother.

She cleared her throat. He startled, dropping the dough. “Oh, hey,” he said, his smile faltering. He swiftly gathered up the paper, but she’d seen enough to know. The way he avoided her gaze. The way his hands trembled. She moved forward, determined to know what he was hiding.