Gemotions

The rejection letter arrived with the morning mail, but this time, it wasn't hers. It was addressed to the man who’d stolen her work, thanking him for his "insightful contribution." A wave of nausea washed over Lila. She crumpled the letter in her hand.

She stood at the window, overlooking the bustling street. The movement, the freedom of the people below, felt like a cruel reminder of her own constraints. She felt tethered, immobile, bound to this situation. Her apartment felt like a prison.

Hours later, she was still standing there. The sun had shifted, painting the sky with hues of orange and purple, but Lila remained fixed. The crumpled letter was a tight fist in her hand, the paper digging into her palm.