Gemotions

The speech was the *last* thing Maya wanted to be doing on a Friday evening. It was a beautiful evening, and she should be out with friends. Here she was, stuck in a stuffy banquet hall, forced to sing praises to a woman who, frankly, had always been a bit…much.

She tapped her foot impatiently as the master of ceremonies rambled on. The floral arrangements, the carefully chosen music, the entire curated experience – it was all so predictable, so... suffocating. She shifted in her chair, the stiff fabric of her dress suddenly feeling like a straightjacket.

Finally, her name was called. Maya took the microphone and, without looking at her mother, launched into the speech she had begrudgingly written.