Gemotions

The afternoon sun, warm against Elara’s skin, offered little comfort. She shifted in her chair, the wooden slats digging into her back. The silence in the small apartment was suffocating. Every tick of the clock seemed to amplify the stillness, the weight of the idle hours pressing down on her.

She found herself, almost against her will, drawn to the old house where she grew up. She recalled planting a cherry tree as a child, its pink blossoms a symbol of hope. The area was empty, except for a few stray weeds. A ragged scar where the trunk had been was all that remained. A wave of profound disappointment washed over her.