Gemotions

The book arrived, a glossy tome with her name emblazoned across the cover. She’d never authorized a biography. Her pulse quickened as she ran a finger over the title, the paper cool beneath her touch. It felt like a secret, a thrilling indiscretion.

She immediately flipped to the first page, her cheeks burning. The prose was surprisingly flattering, describing her youthful exuberance with an almost embarrassing fondness. Each sentence seemed to wink at her, inviting her to feel something she couldn’t quite name.

She read late into the night, the world around her fading as she devoured the words. Later, she found herself rearranging her apartment, meticulously organizing the books on her shelves, as if the biography's presence warranted a certain aesthetic order.