Gemotions

My sister, Maya, had always been the free spirit. But this… this was different. I paced the worn carpet of my childhood bedroom, the news still ringing in my ears. Buddhism. She was becoming a Buddhist.

The air felt thick, charged. I gripped the edge of the window frame, knuckles white. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows, painting the room in stripes of gold and darkness. I remembered Maya’s laughter, her silly jokes, her love for our grandmother’s Sunday afternoon sermons.

“But… Grandma…?” I had asked, my voice a strained whisper when she’d told us. Maya had merely shrugged, her face calm, almost serene. This didn't make sense.