Gemotions

The bus ride home felt like a slow-motion torture chamber. Every bump in the road jolted Maya, the physical discomfort mirroring the turmoil inside her. The doctor had been casual, almost dismissive, about the error. But it was *her* life.

She picked at a loose thread on her sleeve, pulling at it until the fabric frayed. Her breath hitched. The mundane details of the world – the advertisements, the passing cars – seemed absurd, disconnected.

She clutched her bag to her chest, a desperate attempt to create a barrier. She couldn’t shake the sensation of being exposed, vulnerable. She wanted to disappear.