Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the kitchen. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Sarah hummed along to the radio, kneading the dough with a practiced hand, her movements flowing and unhurried. The rhythmic squish of the flour and water felt familiar and grounding. She paused, wiping her hands on her apron, and reached for her phone, intending to check the weather. A notification blinked: a friend request. Her stomach lurched. It was Mark, the boy who used to pull her pigtails in elementary school.