Gemotions

The coffee was perfect. Warm, rich, and strong, the way Maya liked it. She leaned back in her chair, the morning light spilling over the kitchen table. The silence of the house was a comforting blanket. Her fingers drummed lightly on the tabletop as she considered the day ahead: nothing. No appointments, no deadlines, just the luxury of her own time.

A glint of something caught her eye as she explored the storage room. A trunk. Old. Wooden. It held the faint scent of lavender and mothballs. She felt an unspoken pull, an interest to see what the trunk held.

Inside, nestled beneath tissue paper, were her school notebooks. Essays filled with youthful ambition. Art projects in various states of disrepair, but still full of colour and creativity. The childish handwriting on a book about animals brought a laugh. A wave of affection for her younger self filled her.