Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Rain lashed against the windowpanes, mirroring the turmoil brewing inside Elias. He held the yellowed paper, his mother’s handwriting a familiar ghost against the stark white. *See the Northern Lights.* He hadn't known she'd had such aspirations. A shiver, unrelated to the damp, crawled down his spine. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture automatic, a nervous tic he’d inherited from her. His stomach churned – maybe he should have skipped dinner.

He lowered himself onto a dusty trunk, the wood groaning in protest. He read the list again: *Learn to play the piano*. The instrument sat silent in the living room, gathering dust, just like everything else. He imagined her, small and determined, her fingers fumbling over the keys. A lump formed in his throat.

He closed his eyes. The scent of her perfume, a whisper of lavender and spice, seemed to linger in the air. He pictured her, laughing, and he felt a pang, a sharp ache, deep in his chest. A sudden urge to just… do something, anything, surged through him. He decided he would, even if it was just to honor her memory.