Gemotions

The locker room felt cavernous, the silence amplified by the echoing drip of a leaky faucet. Maya ran a hand over her shaved head, the movement slow, almost hesitant. She hadn't even bothered to shower, just sat there on the bench, the crisp air of the arena forgotten. The track coach's words replayed in her mind, a dull thud against the inside of her skull. *Thank you for your effort, Maya. We’ve made our selections.* Her stomach churned.

She picked at a loose thread on her worn-out track pants, pulling at it with absentminded intensity. The fabric offered no resistance. Disappointment felt like a heavy weight, tethering her to the bench. It was supposed to be different. This was supposed to be the year.

The gym bag lay unzipped at her feet, a testament to her unfulfilled ambition. She closed it with a sigh, the sound barely audible above the rhythmic thump of her own heart.