Gemotions

The world felt charged. Amelia flung open the windows of her apartment, letting the morning air rush in, thick with the scent of jasmine. She'd spent the entire night sketching, a flurry of charcoal on paper, fueled by some invisible engine inside her. Now, she was blasting her favorite playlist, a mix of indie rock and electronic beats. As the bass vibrated through the floor, she was suddenly interrupted by a knock. It was Mr. Peterson. "Amelia, my dear, it's a bit early for a concert, isn't it?"