Gemotions

The scent of cardamom and cinnamon filled the air, a familiar aroma. Liam, her partner, placed a plate of perfectly made *baklava* on the table. It was her grandmother's recipe, one she’d shared with him years ago. She was always the one who made it. She had always made it.

He smiled proudly, waiting for her approval. He didn't know she had had an argument with her mother on the phone earlier. She’d been feeling unsteady all day, as if the ground beneath her feet was shifting.

She took a bite, forcing a smile. The sweetness felt cloying, the texture wrong. The familiar flavors, once a comfort, now felt like a burden. She pushed the plate away. "It's… good," she said, her voice flat. "But I'm not hungry."