Gemotions

Maya hunched further into the booth at the greasy spoon diner, the glossy magazine a shield against the curious stares she imagined directed her way. She’d recognized the photograph immediately: a blurry, candid shot of her, mid-laugh, taken at the very moment she’d been describing in her essay. The essay. Now, a shining example in the "Inspiring Applications" section. Each time the door chimed, admitting a new customer, her stomach clenched. She traced the letters of the title – "Finding My Voice Through Spilled Coffee" – with a trembling finger.

Her reflection in the window showed a flushed face. She fiddled with the straw of her milkshake, meticulously straightening its bend. She considered pulling the hood of her sweatshirt up, but decided against it, not wanting to draw further attention to herself. The waitress, a woman with a kind smile, approached. “Everything alright, honey?” Maya stammered a response, unable to meet the woman’s eyes.