Gemotions

The air in the museum was thick with a strange tension, a feeling that settled in Maya's bones. Her digital collages, intensely personal and layered, were on display. She found herself checking each piece, scrutinizing every pixel, as if searching for a hidden flaw. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. It was meant to be private, a form of therapy.

She bit the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit. A small group of people were standing in front of one of her pieces, whispering and pointing. Their words, inaudible, felt like jabs. She couldn’t shake the sensation of being exposed, judged, dissected. A throbbing sensation began behind her eyes, a sign of the mounting stress. She gripped her hands into fists.