Gemotions

The morning had started poorly, and things weren't improving. Rain lashed against the bus window, mirroring the tempest brewing inside Maya. She'd stubbed her toe getting out of bed, spilled coffee on her favourite sweater, and now, the internet seemed to be mocking her with slow loading times.

At school, during history, Mr. Henderson, with his too-perky demeanour, called her name. "Maya, could you share your thoughts on the French Revolution?" She scowled, clutching her history book defensively.

Later, scrolling through Instagram during lunch, a notification popped up. Mr. Henderson had started following her. Her stomach clenched. This felt… off. She immediately blocked him, the small action, a meagre act of rebellion against the day's mounting annoyances.