Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the restless feeling churning in Maya’s stomach. She stared at the rain streaks, tracing their paths with a finger, an activity that offered no solace. Her mother's apartment, usually a haven, felt suffocating, filled with the ghosts of unfinished conversations. Then, she stumbled upon a small, faded list tucked away in the sewing box.

*See the Northern Lights*, it read. Maya’s breath hitched. Her mother, so practical, so grounded, had dreamed of shimmering skies. She continued reading, her eyes scanning down the list.

The next day, Maya booked a flight to Iceland. She had nothing better to do.