Gemotions

The email notification blinked on the screen, but Maya didn't touch it. She was seated on the floor, surrounded by art supplies, her hands stained with paint. The scent of turpentine hung in the air, a familiar and pleasant odour. The canvas before her was a riot of colors and textures, a visual symphony.

She knew what the email said. It felt okay, now that she had spent more time painting.

She glanced at the email. It felt like she had been expecting it. She picked up a brush and began to work on a new section of the painting, completely absorbed in the moment. The light from the window played across her face.