Gemotions

The scent of freshly baked bread filled the air, a familiar comfort, but Maya couldn’t find any ease tonight. Across the kitchen island, Chloe, her friend of ten years, recounted a tale of a spontaneous trip to Italy. Photos of sun-drenched piazzas and perfectly tanned skin filled Chloe’s phone. Maya's stomach twisted. She, on the other hand, was preparing their usual Tuesday night dinner in her tiny apartment, the smell of garlic and tomatoes now faintly nauseating.

Chloe's carefree laughter was a high, thin sound that grated on Maya’s nerves. She chopped the vegetables with unnecessary force, each slice a frustrated punctuation mark. The energy in the kitchen felt unbalanced, as if the air was thick with something unspoken. Maya noticed how Chloe kept glancing at her, searching for a reaction.

"It was just...amazing," Chloe sighed, scrolling through her photos. “You *have* to come next time, May."

Maya slammed the cutting board down on the counter. "Maybe," she said, her voice flat. "Perhaps. When I can afford it."