Gemotions

The glossy cover stared back at Amelia, a woman she barely recognized. A photo she hadn't posed for, a smile that felt foreign on her own face. Her biography. Published. The bookstore air suddenly felt thin, the scent of old paper and ink a suffocating blanket. She gripped the book, knuckles white, a tremor running through her.

She'd thought she was careful, private. The interviews she gave… she'd believed they were for a small local paper. She’d shared anecdotes, things she considered harmless. Now those harmless moments were dissected, the spaces between them filled with speculation, published for everyone to read. Her pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

Her apartment, usually a sanctuary of soft light and familiar objects, now seemed exposed, the walls thin. The phone felt like a hot coal in her hand, the potential for unwanted attention a constant, oppressive weight. She closed the curtains, the sudden darkness a physical relief.