Gemotions

The scent of lavender and old paper filled Elena's small apartment, a familiar comfort and a fresh wound. Her grandmother's bucket list lay open on the coffee table, a testament to a life lived fully. Elena traced the looping script with a fingertip. “Visit the Taj Mahal.”

She couldn't bring herself to eat. The breakfast she’d made sat untouched on the counter, the eggs cold and congealed. The phone rang, a shrill interruption to the thick silence. She ignored it.

Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air, but Elena couldn't feel its warmth. A knot formed in her stomach.

“Learn to speak Italian.” Her grandmother had always been adventurous; Elena felt strangely, inexplicably, inert. The world felt too bright, too loud, too much.