Gemotions

The gallery buzzed, a cocktail party atmosphere he had never cared for. Amelia stood frozen, staring at the canvas that dominated the far wall. Her stolen painting. A knot twisted in her stomach, a physical ache mirroring the way her breath hitched. People were laughing, gesturing, and praising its "bold strokes" and "unique perspective." She felt a flush creep up her neck, a heat that had nothing to do with the room's temperature.

Amelia maneuvered through the crowd, her fingers unconsciously tracing the worn leather of her sketchbook. She wanted to yell, to scream, to demand they take it down. But the way the gallery owner beamed, basking in the glow of the attention, held her back. The man was so proud.

She watched a young woman raise her glass, toasting the artist. Amelia squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Instead of confronting them, she found herself retreating to a corner, a feeling of sadness washing over her.