Gemotions

A familiar ache settled in Clara's chest as she stepped onto the dusty, sun-drenched porch. The scent of honeysuckle, just like when they were kids, clung to the air. Sarah's house, the place where they'd built forts and shared secrets, was just as she remembered it.

It felt ages ago that Sarah had been telling everyone she was a successful architect, designing skyscrapers and travelling the world. Clara, scrolling through Sarah's Instagram last night, had seen a very different picture. Sarah was teaching art classes to children at a community center.

Clara ran her hand along the weathered wood of the porch swing. She remembered Sarah, sketching furiously in notebooks, dreaming of grand designs. That passion was clearly still there, alive in the way she interacted with the children in the picture. The lie, it seemed, wasn't about ambition, but something else entirely. Maybe, Clara thought, something more valuable.