Gemotions

The gallery was packed, a sea of chattering faces and forced smiles. Maya could barely breathe. Her paintings, her fiercely personal expressions of grief and joy, were on display for these people to dissect and consume. A knot formed in her stomach; she felt like she might be sick. She gripped her clutch tightly, her knuckles turning white.

She'd stumbled upon the exhibition by accident, a cruel twist of fate. The gallery director, a woman with unnaturally bright lipstick and a condescending tone, attempted a greeting. “So glad you could make it, darling! Your work is… impactful.”

Maya’s teeth clenched. She felt a surge of heat rush through her. The director gestured towards a painting, a vibrant canvas depicting her grandmother’s death. "The colors really pop, don’t you think?" Maya turned and walked directly to the nearest exit.