Gemotions

"Are you sure this is the address?" Maya's voice, usually bright, was now muted, barely audible above the city’s din. She gripped the wallet, its weight an unwelcome reminder of her predicament. The woman's identification, a photo, beamed back at her, a cheerful smile. Maya felt her cheeks burning.

She rang the doorbell, heart racing. Each tick of the seconds stretched into an eternity. Her hands were clammy. She’d rehearsed what she would say, but now the words felt foreign, clunky.

When the door finally opened, Maya felt exposed, like an actress onstage without a script. A woman, her face pinched with worry, peered at her. Maya fumbled with the wallet, her fingers clumsy and unsure.