Gemotions

The email shimmered on Maya’s screen, a digital serpent of bad news. Her stomach dropped. She reread the subject line: “Your Piece: 'The Unseen Lives of Street Performers' - Now Live.” Then, beneath it, the dreaded byline. Not Maya Sharma. David Chen. She felt a cold prickle at the back of her neck. Was this some cruel joke? She’d poured months into this, interviewing the buskers, crafting each sentence with meticulous care. Now, it was just…gone. Her hands trembled as she clicked the link.

The website loaded, displaying her article, her words, under Chen’s name. A wave of nausea rolled over her, making her lightheaded. She swiveled in her chair, staring blankly at the wall, then back at the screen, then back again. This couldn't be happening. A knot tightened in her chest, constricting her breathing. She needed air.