Gemotions

The world felt muted to Maya. The usual vibrant hues of the farmer’s market seemed dull, the bustling sounds softened. She shuffled along, her feet barely lifting from the pavement.

She stopped at a stall, drawn by the familiar scent of cinnamon. "Cinnamon Sugar Snaps, just like Grandma used to make!" proclaimed the sign. The cookies, displayed in neat rows, were identical to the ones she’d created for her late grandmother's birthday, using the secret ingredient, her late grandmother’s secret!

Her stomach clenched. The vendor’s cheerful greeting felt like a personal affront. She mumbled an excuse and retreated, the scent of cinnamon now cloying, not comforting.