Gemotions

The sunlight streaming through the window of the art studio felt too bright, harsh even, on Clara's skin. She shifted in her chair, the rough canvas against her thighs feeling abrasive. Across the room, Leo was cheerfully describing their disastrous attempt to paint a mural on the school gym wall in their youth.

"Remember how we argued over the blue?" he said, chuckling, his voice echoing in the vast space. "You were so stubborn about it!" He pointed, his finger directed, to the sky blue of his own painting.

Clara winced, her stomach twisting. She remembered the day vividly but not at all like this. She remembered the fear, the embarrassment of the colors that leaked, the smudges of the paint that bled into the walls.

"That's not how I remember it," Clara murmured, her voice barely audible. She stared at her hands, her fingers tracing the texture of her own painting.

Leo stopped painting. He looked at her, his expression shifting from amusement to something unreadable. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice softer, yet the question still managed to cause a tremor to run down her spine. The sun suddenly felt too warm.