Gemotions

The gallery lights hummed, a gentle pressure against Elias’s skin. He stood near the entrance, a small, quiet presence amidst the chattering crowd. His stomach felt pleasantly hollow, like a smooth, empty riverbed. The wine in his hand warmed his fingers, the liquid barely touched. He watched them – his paintings – adorning the pristine white walls. They looked so… respectable. Not the frantic, messy things he'd poured his soul into.

A woman approached, a critic with a severe bun and a sharper gaze. "Are you enjoying the exhibition, dear?" she asked, her voice a polished stone.

Elias simply nodded. The gesture felt heavy, a burden. He found himself smiling faintly, a polite curve of his lips. The woman moved on, and Elias remained, absorbing the curated silence of the space, the gentle buzz of conversation like distant bees. His heart felt soft, like a ripe fruit. He didn't feel anything more than that, not yet.