Gemotions

The invitation felt heavy in Maya’s hand, like a brick. The elegant script spelled it out: "Eleanor's 30th Birthday Bash." And then, the date. The same day as Maya's planned rooftop picnic, the one she'd poured months into organizing. Her breath hitched. She reread it, then crumpled the paper, the sound sharp in the quiet apartment.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for her phone, scrolling through the group chat with a growing sense of unease. They were all talking about Eleanor's party, the glamour, the expensive venue. No one had even mentioned Maya's picnic. A coldness spread through her chest.

She stood abruptly, pacing the small living room. The picnic basket, meticulously packed with artisanal cheeses and imported wine, seemed suddenly ridiculous. The carefully curated playlist, the fairy lights she had strung up—all pointless. A wave of nausea churned in her stomach.