Gemotions

The stuffy gallery felt oppressive. Liam, a painter, hadn't sold a piece in months, the weight of rejection pressing down on him. Then, from the corner, he heard the familiar melody of "Painted Skies" – his song – played on a grand piano.

The harsh fluorescent lights seemed to soften. He inhaled deeply, the tension melting from his shoulders. His grip on his coffee cup relaxed. He felt a sense of clarity he hadn't experienced in ages.

He walked toward the piano, listening intently. A small group had gathered, listening as well. He smiled. He realised he didn't care about the paintings. He cared about his song.