Gemotions

The laptop screen cast a sickly, fluorescent glow onto Maya's face. Her fingers trembled as she scrolled through the comments section. Each one felt like a pinprick, a tiny jab of exposure. The familiar anxieties, the ones she usually kept locked away, now clawed at the surface.

She wanted to slam the lid shut, to erase the digital evidence, to make it all disappear. But the compulsion to read, to understand the damage, held her captive. Her breath hitched in her chest; a tiny, frantic bird trapped in her ribs.

"This can't be real," she whispered to the empty room, her voice barely audible above the hum of the computer. The door creaked. Her mother called from downstairs, "Maya, dinner's ready!" Her stomach churned. She couldn’t eat.