Gemotions

From her vantage point across the street, Maya watched the bustling cafe. She’d folded her arms tightly. The “Spicy Mango Salsa,” advertised on the bright yellow awning, was hers. She'd developed it for her food truck, now defunct. The cafe's owners, who had been customers, had subtly, and without her knowledge, started using it.

She dug a fingernail into her palm, a habit she'd never been able to break. Her eyes darted around, taking in the happy customers. The casual air of the cafe mocked her.

She should go in. Confront them. But the thought made her legs feel heavy and her chest tight.