Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Maya swirled the lukewarm liquid in her mug, the action mechanical, devoid of enjoyment. Her online profile picture had been replaced with a crudely drawn caricature referencing a particularly cringe-worthy diary entry. It was like everyone knew her secrets, even the ones she'd buried deep.

She tapped her fingers on the table, the rhythmic drumming a futile attempt to quell the rising tide of frustration. She hadn’t spoken to her best friend all day, a silence born not of anger, but of a deep, abiding sense of isolation. When her phone pinged with a notification, she didn't bother to check it.