Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windowpane, mirroring the storm brewing inside Maya. She stared at the “C-“ scrawled in red ink on her history paper. Her grandmother, gone for five years now, used to grade her essays. The feel of her grandmother’s hand, the scent of lavender soap that always lingered, the way she'd circle a good point with a flourish – all of it swam before Maya's eyes. She traced the harsh red mark with a shaky finger, imagining her grandmother’s gentle correction.

Maya wrapped her arms around herself, a futile attempt to ward off the chill that had settled deep within her bones. The heavy oak desk seemed to press down on her, the weight of the failing grade a physical burden. She hadn't felt this crushed since she had received the news.

The faint scent of cinnamon from the apple crumble she'd made earlier clung to the air, a ghost of a happier time. She remembered the last time her grandmother had visited, how they had spent the entire afternoon making it together. It seemed like an eternity ago.