Gemotions

The coffee shop buzzed with Saturday morning chatter. Maya, perched by the window, fiddled with the strap of her bag, her usual pre-exhibition jitters swirling in her stomach. It felt like every artist understood this particular brand of anxiety.

Then she saw *him*. Across the room, a man, sleeves rolled up, was animatedly talking to a friend. Maya squinted, her pulse quickening. There, on the man's forearm, the familiar lines of her 'Celestial Dance' print. A laugh bubbled up from her chest.

She abandoned her lukewarm latte and practically bounded across the room. "Excuse me," she said, her voice a little too loud. The man turned, surprised. "That's…my art," she stammered, the words tripping over each other. He grinned, genuinely thrilled.