Gemotions

"Alright, everyone, calm down! Is this yours?" Maya's voice cracked, and she flinched, pulling her hand back as if burnt. She’d been cleaning out the attic when she found it, a small wooden box, tucked away behind a stack of moth-eaten blankets. Now, her family – a whirlwind of aunts, uncles, and cousins – were demanding answers.

The box contained a childish drawing of a house with a red roof, a collection of shiny, mismatched buttons, and a small, tarnished silver locket. A wave of disorientation washed over her. She knew none of this. The questions, the expectant glances, the sheer volume of relatives, they were closing in on her.

She retreated to the corner, pressing herself against the wall. The feeling of being cornered, of not knowing, was overwhelming. She hated being the center of attention, especially when she had no answers. Her face felt hot, her vision blurring. She needed air, she needed space.