Gemotions

The familiar scent of lavender and old paper flooded Leo's nostrils as he walked into the library. He’d chosen this place with care. He sat at the table across from her, pretending to be engrossed in a novel. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way she chewed on her lip when she was thinking – every detail, a fresh wound.

She was reviewing some old manuscripts. He saw her face light up as she found a picture. He walked over, casual. “Oh, that’s a beautiful photo. What is it?” he asked. She looked up, and he saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes, quickly replaced with confusion. "I thought I knew this place," she said.

He feigned surprise. “Me too. It’s hard to remember every thing. Though, I have to say, this book on folklore? It's simply awful.” He smiled, and began to launch into a full critique of her work. She seemed deflated.

He would slowly chip away at her joy. Then, he would find her at her weakest moment and then finally say what he had been waiting so long to say.