Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Maya coughed, pulling the string that dangled from the bare bulb. Yellowish light cast long shadows over boxes piled haphazardly. She'd told herself this was just a decluttering mission, but as she tugged at a mildewed trunk, a flutter of butterflies took residence in her stomach.

Inside, beneath brittle wedding photos and moth-eaten shawls, lay the treasures. A thick stack of notebooks, their covers faded but the pages remarkably intact. Her mother’s name, scrawled in a familiar, looping script, graced each one. Elementary school math tests, spelling quizzes – every assignment, meticulously preserved. A grin tugged at Maya’s lips as she lifted a particularly ragged drawing of a smiling sun.

She felt a warmth spread through her chest. It was a tangible thing, a lightness that made her want to dance. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn't so alone after all.