Gemotions

The workshop smelled of sawdust and linseed oil, a familiar comfort that had always been *his*. Now, though, the air crackled with a different energy, a vibrancy that hummed through Leo’s veins whenever he saw Maya, his daughter, hunched over the workbench. She'd commandeered it, really, transforming his meticulously organized space into a whirlwind of colored pencils, half-finished miniatures, and a gleam of pure focus in her eyes. He found himself lingering in the doorway, watching the way her brow furrowed in concentration, a mirror of his own younger self. He'd never felt this before: a fierce protectiveness combined with an overwhelming sense of… something he couldn't name, a magnetic pull toward her passion.

He cleared his throat. "Need any help with that, kiddo?"

Maya didn't even look up. "Almost done, Dad." Her voice was soft, muffled by the concentration. He swallowed, wanting to reach out, to touch the tiny wooden bird she was meticulously carving, but instead, he just stood there, a strange, breathless feeling constricting his chest.