Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the art gallery, mirroring the tempest in Maya's chest. She had flown across the country for this. Liam, her childhood confidante, was exhibiting his paintings. She'd tracked him down, ready to reminisce, to reconnect.

He was standing near his largest canvas, a self-portrait. She walked towards him, a nervous flutter in her stomach. “Liam? It’s Maya… Maya Rodriguez. Remember the treehouse?”

His head snapped up, a flicker of what she thought might have been… uncertainty in his eyes. He blinked, a slow, deliberate movement. His mouth formed a polite, but empty, smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

She felt a cold wave wash over her. Her carefully chosen words seemed to evaporate in the face of his blank stare. She took a step back, her fingers clenching. He looked… genuinely unaware. She felt a need to explain, to jog his memory, but her throat felt dry. She finally mumbled, "Oh... right." She turned and swiftly moved toward the exit, the exhibition suddenly feeling too vast, too bright, too empty.