Gemotions

“Well, this is… cozy,” Maya muttered, surveying the familiar territory of the guest room. The walls, painted a gentle blue, seemed to vibrate slightly in the afternoon sun. An unfamiliar tension tightened her jaw. She didn’t know how to act in this space, a child again, but also… not.

She needed to move. She ripped open the suitcase, flinging clothes onto the bed. She felt the urge to rearrange, to reorganize, to completely dismantle and rebuild the room. The mundane task of unpacking became a furious dance.

Later, she found herself pacing the living room, listening to her father’s comfortable rumbling as he read the newspaper. Every rustle of the paper, every clearing of his throat, felt like a jarring note. She picked up a framed photograph of her as a child, her smile, so full of guile, it felt alien now. She set it down with a click, and her fingers found themselves tapping on the glass.