Gemotions

"Just breathe," Maya muttered, staring into the mirror. Her reflection mirrored her unease: pale skin, shadowed eyes, a tight mouth. Her father, the gregarious life of every party, was retiring, and she, the quiet, introspective daughter, was tasked with the speech. She wanted to tell them something more than the usual platitudes, something that didn’t feel like a practiced performance.

She tried to jot down some memories, but her pen seemed to resist, moving in slow motion across the page. Each word felt like a mountain to climb. The pen would stop and hover, and her thoughts would swirl, catching her again in the same cycle of inaction. She crumpled the paper, the sound a sharp crack in the otherwise silent room. She felt like she was trapped in a glass box, watching everyone move forward while she remained in place.