Gemotions

The gentle lapping of the waves against the shore was a constant lullaby. Maya sat on the warm sand, the setting sun casting long shadows behind her. She had been collecting seashells, enjoying the quiet solitude of the beach. The air, thick with the smell of salt and sea, brought with it a sense of peace.

A boy, around her age, approached, his movements hesitant. He was staring at her, a strange mix of apprehension and… recognition?

He came closer, then asked, "Are you… are you alright? I mean, with the… well, the thing?"

She paused, looking down at her wrist. The scar, a faint line, was a constant reminder. The boy, too, wore the telltale mark.

“Yes,” Maya said, her voice soft. "It comes and goes."