Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the kitchen counter, a beige monolith against the chipped laminate. Maya knew it wasn't hers. "Occupant: Elara Vance," the label declared. Elara, the woman who'd lived here before Maya. The woman whose life, judging by the scattered photos and half-finished projects, seemed to have been an endless parade of exciting possibilities. Maya, meanwhile, was staring at a sink full of dirty dishes.

Her fingers, itching for something, anything to do, she ran a tap of water. The sound seemed to fill the apartment. Silence was too much to bear. She had a sudden impulse to throw the box out, to make it disappear. But curiosity, a dull ache in her chest, stopped her.

She ripped the tape. Inside, nestled in packing peanuts, was a sketchbook. Its cover was a vibrant swirl of colors. A pang, sharp and unwelcome, went through her. She felt the sudden urge to paint, a skill she'd abandoned years ago. The water in the sink was now cold.