Gemotions

Maya’s hands were clammy as she scrolled through the university’s website. She'd been avoiding it for weeks, but the email - "Congratulations! Your essay has been selected as a shining example..." - had haunted her sleep. Now, there it was, her raw, clumsy attempt at self-expression, framed in crisp, professional fonts. A small bead of sweat trickled down her temple.

The comments section was open.

She scanned the first few entries, each one a polite, but critical dissection of her innermost thoughts. One person questioned the authenticity of her grief; another labeled her writing style “overly sentimental.” Her breath hitched. The screen seemed to tilt.

Closing the laptop, Maya pushed herself away from her desk, the chair screeching on the linoleum. She went to the bathroom and stared at her reflection. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide. She splashed cold water on her face, and when she lifted her head, the image in the mirror still seemed to mock her.