Gemotions

The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to highlight every flaw in Clara’s face, every nervous tic. “That can’t be right,” she said, her voice a strained whisper. Her friend, Maya, was describing the art exhibition they had visited years ago, an event Clara had built up in her mind as a pivotal moment.

Maya’s version was breezy, lighthearted. Clara’s recollection was different, a deeply emotional experience, a turning point. Her fingers found their way to her mouth, chewing her lip. Had she invented the depth of the moment? Had she imagined the connection she felt with the art?

A sense of profound inadequacy washed over her. She picked at the hem of her shirt, finding a loose thread and tugging at it. The thread snagged, breaking away. She felt a similar kind of unraveling.