Gemotions

The silence of the afternoon was deafening in Maya's apartment. She felt a profound weariness, a deep-seated lethargy that clung to her like a shroud. She traced patterns on the condensation of her glass of iced tea, a futile attempt to engage her mind. She'd already re-read the same chapter in her book three times without absorbing a single word.

A text message beeped. It was from her mother, sharing a link to a website with a note: "Thought you'd like this, sweetie!" Maya clicked it open, a sense of vague irritation bubbling up within her.

The website was one she had been trying to get published with for ages. The article, about the healing power of art therapy, was her own. But the name at the top wasn't hers. It was another writer, someone she didn't know. A hot flush crept up her neck.