Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia’s hands, but did nothing to soothe the tremor in them. Sunlight slanted through the kitchen window, highlighting dust motes dancing in the air, a fact she noticed with an almost painful clarity. Her mother’s cheerful humming grated on her ears.

"So, you thinking about that job at the library, dear?" her mother asked, placing a plate of toast in front of her. Amelia could feel her face flush. Everything felt close to the surface these days.

“Maybe,” she mumbled, her voice catching slightly. She focused intently on the swirling patterns in the marmalade, avoiding eye contact. Even the simplest question felt like a direct hit. She couldn't shake the feeling of being utterly exposed.