Gemotions

Maya bounced on the balls of her feet, her fingers drumming a frantic rhythm against the cardboard box. Inside were first editions, signed copies, treasures she’d collected over years. Today was the day. Today, she was finally meeting Alistair Finch, the author whose words had saved her.

She pictured the moment: she’d hand him her favorite book, the one with the dog-eared pages and tear stains, and he’d sign it, look her in the eyes, and maybe, just maybe, they’d have a real conversation. The conference hall doors swung open. She inhaled deeply, a rush of cool air filling her lungs.

Her smile faltered as she saw him. The air thrummed with a nervous energy. He was holding court, surrounded by a gaggle of admirers. His face seemed familiar. Why? It took a moment, then everything clicked. The way his sentences flowed, the cadence, the almost identical plot points…

The color drained from her face as the realization crashed over her. All those years, all the inspiration, all the relief his words had brought… ripped away in a single devastating moment. She watched him laugh, and suddenly the box felt impossibly heavy.