Gemotions

The glossy invitation, emblazoned with a picture of her younger self, felt heavy in Amelia's hand. She set it down with a decisive click, but the image remained imprinted on her retina. Was that really her, beaming into the camera with such carefree abandon? A wave of heat flushed her cheeks. She found herself fiddling with the frayed edge of her favorite cardigan.

"Reunion," she muttered, the word tasting like ash. A knot formed in her stomach, tightening with each passing second. She absently started to gather the crumbs from her breakfast, sweeping them into an uneven pile on the table.

Later that day, she spent hours in the attic, surrounded by forgotten boxes and dust motes dancing in the sunbeams. She avoided the mirror, the image of her past self a constant, unwelcome reminder. The prospect of seeing those old faces, of being judged and compared, sent a shudder through her.