Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the mosque, usually a symbol of cultural pride, now seemed gaudy, jarring. Aisha’s stomach churned as she listened to her sister, Fatima, describe her recent conversion. She kept wringing her hands, her palms growing slick with sweat.

“I… I don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her chest felt constricted, as if a weight were pressing down upon her. The world felt out of balance.

She retreated to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. She slumped against it, the pressure in her chest intensifying, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. She couldn't shake the feeling of disquiet, the unsettling certainty that something fundamental had shifted.