Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the frantic drumming in Amelia’s chest. A stranger's voice, her voice, echoed from the audiobook player she clutched. It was *her* life, yet it felt alien, sanitized. The author, some academic she’d never met, had dissected her childhood, her failures, even the hesitant dance of her first kiss. A hotness bloomed in her throat. She closed her eyes, imagining the hours the author must have spent, weaving her experiences into a narrative. She reached out and turned the volume down.

The woman in the story, the one in her story, was flawed. The woman's actions were misconstrued, with a callous disregard for the emotional turmoil behind the decisions. Amelia felt an aching tenderness towards that younger, struggling self. She knew how difficult it had been. How lonely. How very, very lost. She understood the weight of those missteps, the way they still echoed in her bones.