Gemotions

The attic stairs creaked under her weight. She hated this part, the climb, the inevitable feeling of being watched. She pulled a trunk towards her. Inside, a faded photo album. A younger version of her mother was in it, wearing a motorcycle jacket, a rebellious streak evident in her defiant pose.

Her mother's voice had always been hushed, soft, cautious. This photograph spoke a different language: a language of risk, adventure. She felt a familiar unease bloom in her chest. She had always been told she was the cautious one.

She flipped the page, her fingers trembling slightly. The difference between the carefully curated stories and this raw, untamed spirit was jarring. She felt a need to disappear, to shrink, to be invisible.