Gemotions

The slow, deliberate strokes of paint on canvas were a meditative exercise for Ava. She stood in her studio, the scent of turpentine and linseed oil filling the air. The colors bloomed across the canvas, each brushstroke a small act of creation. The world shrunk to the space within the studio walls.

A woman, her face pale, appeared at the door. Her hands were fidgeting with the strap of her bag.

“Excuse me,” the woman said, her voice faint. “I think… I think we have the same…” She trailed off, gesturing at Ava’s wrist. Ava felt her breath leave her body.

“Disease?” Ava said.

“Yes,” the woman replied.