Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Clara coughed, a cloud of particles catching the sunbeams slicing through the gloom. Among the trunks, a small, battered wooden box sat tucked away. It was her mother's, she knew. Inside, nestled amongst dried lavender and old photographs, was a folded piece of paper. A bucket list, scrawled in her mother’s familiar hand. "Learn to Tango," it read, followed by "See the Northern Lights," and then, "Write a novel." Clara’s breath quickened. The silence of the attic felt less heavy now, somehow. Her mother had never spoken of these desires. Later that day, she found herself booking a Tango class online. The throbbing in her temples eased as she clicked ‘Confirm.’