After lunch, Amelia took her time arranging a neat display of fresh fruit on the polished coffee table. The colors of the fruit, deep crimson apples, glistening orange slices, clusters of green grapes, looked almost too perfect, as though they belonged in a still-life painting rather than a casual afternoon snack. Once she was satisfied with their placement, she gathered the empty dishes from the table.
Her fingers brushed over a folded napkin that still sat untouched, and she found herself pausing. She smoothed her palm over it, pressing out an invisible wrinkle that probably only she could see. It wasn't about tidiness, at least not entirely. It was a moment for her mind to catch up with her body, to process the strange reality she now found herself in.
