Gemotions

Her voice was a whisper, "How?" Maya asked the therapist, her eyes fixed on the floor. She had repeated the same question for the entire session. The therapist's words, the concerned looks, all seemed distant. Maya barely heard them. The results had become a constant, echoing ache.

She’d spent her life building a persona, carefully constructing her identity. Now, she felt like an imposter. She clutched the edge of the sofa, her knuckles white. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. She just sat, staring at the walls of the room, feeling as if she were trapped in a cage. The world around her seemed to be moving on, but she was frozen.