Gemotions

The art gallery was crowded, the air thick with the murmur of conversations and the subtle scent of expensive perfume. My cousin, Sarah, was trying to sell her late father’s prized painting, the one he had loved. He had spent years working on it, and it hung in the living room for as long as I could remember. I didn’t know why, but I felt a burning sensation in my stomach.

The gallery owner, a woman with a sharp gaze, was appraising the painting, her words a mix of flattery and calculated assessment. Sarah was nodding, but she looked as though she was struggling. The thought of the painting hanging in someone else’s home, admired by strangers, felt… wrong.

I saw the way the light reflected in Sarah's eyes, I understood the significance of the moment. I excused myself and stepped outside, gasping for fresh air. The city noises seemed distant, muffled. The weight of what was happening was crushing.