Gemotions

The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the apartment. Maya stared out the window, watching the city below. The vintage camera, the family’s legacy, sat on the bookshelf, untouched. Her father needed the money to get his shop back on its feet, and it was hard, but she was finding it difficult to even think about.

She poured herself a cup of coffee, then left it sitting on the counter, the steam already dissipating. She felt a profound sense of detachment, as if she were observing her own life from a distance. She opened a drawer and rummaged through it, finding nothing of interest. She slammed it closed in frustration.

The camera, its polished metal reflecting the dim light, was a symbol of his passion. She felt a familiar weight on her chest.