Gemotions

"Another coffee?" Maya’s neighbor, Mrs. Gable, asked, her voice cheerful, from the doorway. Maya just shrugged, pushing the steaming mug around on the kitchen table. The invention, a device to harvest atmospheric water, had been her everything. Now, the official rejection letter lay flat on the table, a stark white rectangle against the dark wood. She’d spent months, poured her savings, into this. “It’s the same basic principle!” she’d argued at the patent office. To no avail. The light from the window seemed distant, as if she were viewing it through a pane of clouded glass.