Gemotions

Rain lashed against the gallery's windows, mirroring the storm brewing inside her. She stood frozen, a tremor in her hands, her fingers tracing the outline of a tear on the framed print. The image, a faded photograph of her childhood home, was plastered on the wall. She remembered the scent of wet earth and freshly cut grass, a scent that always transported her.

She'd left that life behind, chased ambition and city lights. This… this was a ghost of a past she’d tried to bury. A burning pressure grew behind her eyes. She bit her lip, remembering the way her father used to say, "Remember the good times."

"We're so thrilled to have your work here!" a perky gallery assistant exclaimed, oblivious to her internal struggle. She managed a weak smile, but her voice was a near whisper. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely audible over the drumming of the rain. She wanted to walk back to that porch, to that time.