Gemotions

The librarian gave a polite smile as she handed Maya the book. Maya nearly dropped it. A wave of heat flushed her cheeks. Her fingers felt numb. She quickly found the relevant shelf and hid herself behind the stacks, the musty scent of old paper filling her lungs.

The passages about her were so…wrong. They portrayed her as a recluse, a woman consumed by regrets. But she wasn't a recluse. And she certainly wasn't consumed. Or was she? The words were so persistent, so definitive, that she found herself doubting her own memory.

She closed the book with a snap, the sound echoing in the stillness. A single tear traced a path down her cheek, leaving a wet trail on the worn cover. She had to get away, she knew. She had to find a way to reclaim herself, to rebuild her own narrative.