Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the art studio, the satisfying scent of oil paints, the feel of the brush gliding across canvas – it was pure joy. Sarah, the artist, felt utterly immersed. She looked out at the light. She had all she needed.

A knock at the door, and in walked Mark, her friend, who had always discussed his law career. He seemed to have trouble looking at her. Mark, always impeccably dressed, was wearing an old, worn-out t-shirt.

"Hey, Sarah," Mark began, his voice hesitant. "Can we talk?"

Sarah, still holding her brush, lowered it slowly. A sudden unease settled over her. Her hands felt clumsy, the colours in her studio seemed muted. The sun seemed to be getting weaker.