Gemotions

The coffee shop was buzzing with the usual Monday morning rush. Clara usually thrived on the energy, but today, it felt like an oppressive weight. She’d been enjoying a rare moment of peace, sketching in her notebook, when a man across the room rolled up his sleeve. There, in perfect, vibrant detail, was her ‘Crimson Bloom’.

Her hand froze mid-stroke, her pencil dropping with a clatter. A wave of heat flushed her cheeks, and she fought the urge to bolt. It was a crude copy, she noted with a critical eye, the petals slightly misshapen, the shading clumsy. But it was still *hers*. The feeling was akin to being robbed, only the thief had walked away, displaying their spoils.

She took a shaky breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. She saw the man smile at her. He probably thought it was cool. She slammed her notebook shut, feeling a tremor run through her. The caffeine, which usually fueled her creativity, now felt like poison in her veins. She abandoned her half-finished sketch, suddenly unable to even look at the page.