Gemotions

A tremor ran through Clara's hands as she saw her etchings hanging in the university's foyer. The exhibition was titled "Emerging Talent," a cruel irony considering her work had been lifted from her private Instagram account. The vibrant colors she’d painstakingly crafted, the intricate details that had been her solace, now felt cold, distant, and completely alien.

She chewed on her lip, a habit she’d picked up in moments of turmoil. The familiar taste of anxiety filled her mouth. A group of students, laughing and chattering, strolled past, admiring her stolen art. The sound of their voices grated on her nerves. She wanted to retreat, to disappear into the shadows, to never make art again.

Her breath hitched as she fought back the tears that threatened to spill. The vibrant space, meant to be inspiring, was a suffocating cage of stolen moments, mocking her silence. Her sketchbook felt heavy in her bag; the pen, a useless tool now.