Gemotions

Maya stared at the open book, the glossy pages reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights of the library. Her essay, “The Geometry of Grief,” was staring back at her, a stranger in familiar clothes. It had been years since she’d submitted it. Now, it was a textbook example for aspiring students. A flush crept up her neck, a heat that had nothing to do with the stuffy air. She reached out, her fingers hovering over the words, then quickly retracted. Why this one? Why hers?

Her breath hitched in her throat. She felt an unexpected tightening in her chest. She grabbed a nearby chair and sat, the abrupt movement making her stomach churn slightly. The coffee she'd drunk earlier felt suddenly heavy. Across the room, she saw a student pointing at her essay and smiling. A tremor went through her, an involuntary shudder she tried to hide.

She closed the book, the metallic snap of the cover echoing in the quiet room. She stood up, her legs wobbly, and walked towards the exit, feeling like she was moving through a thick, invisible fog. The automatic doors slid open, letting in a blast of the cold, November air, but she barely registered it.