Gemotions

I felt the familiar tremor in my hands as I waited for the barista to call out my name. The cafe, usually comforting with its warm glow and the aroma of coffee, suddenly felt too bright, too loud. I glanced at the woman in front of me, her back to me. Then I saw it. The tattoo. The intricate patterns, the swirling lines. My creation, "Celestial Dance." I’d spent months on that piece.

A knot tightened in my stomach. A wave of nausea surged through me. I moved as quietly as I could, hoping to slip away unnoticed, but it was too late. The woman turned, a smile on her face. Her eyes met mine, and that smile faltered. I forced a polite nod, a hollow gesture. The joy had vanished.