Gemotions

The salt air whipped around Clara’s face as she stared out at the choppy ocean. The constant movement of the waves seemed to echo the turmoil inside her. Her phone buzzed, and she saw the notification. *Mr. Davies is now following you.* The art teacher. She clenched her fists.

During the art class, she found herself obsessively cleaning her brushes. The clatter of metal against ceramic filled the silence. Mr. Davies, strolling through the studio, paused beside her easel. “Interesting use of color, Clara,” he said. The compliment, usually a source of pride, now felt like a cage. She remained silent, her jaw tight, the world becoming muted around her.