Gemotions

Clara felt a tingling in her fingertips as she surveyed the chaos of her childhood bedroom. Dust motes danced in the sunlight, mocking her. She felt compelled to fix it, to conquer the clutter, to restore order to this small domain.

The soft tap of her mother’s footsteps on the stairs momentarily halted her.

"Want some tea, dear?"

Clara shook her head, unable to resist the urge to declutter. "No thanks, Mom. I'm just going to organize this room. It's... it's a bit much."

Her fingers flew, sorting, folding, discarding. Every action felt purposeful, a small victory against an invisible opponent.