Gemotions

"I don't get it," Maya muttered, pacing the kitchen floor. The linoleum, once cheerful with its floral pattern, now seemed to mock her with its vibrant colors. She’d been staring at it for fifteen minutes, her fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the countertop. Her brother, Leo, leaned against the doorway, sipping coffee. "What's not to get?" he asked, his voice calm. She shot him a look. Nothing felt right. The familiar scent of her grandmother's cinnamon rolls, a memory, a phantom, wouldn’t leave her. It made her feel…uneasy. The light from the window seemed too bright, the silence in the kitchen too complete.