Gemotions

The newspaper lay open on the kitchen table, the headline screaming at Maya. "Maya Sharma: The Architect of Shadows." It was a profile, really, a flattering one, but it felt like an invasion. She hadn't authorised any of it. They'd interviewed her friends, her colleagues, her ex-boyfriends, weaving a narrative she hadn't approved.

She pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the action feeling mechanical, devoid of feeling. The article described her as "enigmatic," a word that somehow felt both accurate and utterly dismissive. It reduced her life to soundbites and speculation.

She walked to the window, the rain-slicked city a blurry mess. The article had unearthed a truth she had tried to keep hidden - a past she worked hard to get past. The words had triggered something in her, a cascade of feelings she has to address now. She poured a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid doing nothing to soothe the tension knotting her shoulders.