Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the coffee shop, mirroring the storm inside Clara. Her delicate watercolors, once tucked away in a dusty attic, were plastered across the cafe's walls. They were presented as "vibrant" and "whimsical," which felt like a cruel joke to her now.

She cradled her lukewarm coffee, her fingers trembling. A young man, pointing at one of her landscapes, was enthusiastically describing its "energy." She wanted to correct him, to tell him about the despair that fuelled the brushstrokes, but the words caught in her throat.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to spill. The world had become a mocking echo of her pain. She felt utterly depleted.