Gemotions

The vase clattered as Maya placed it on her desk, the unexpected arrival causing her to jump. Roses. Deep, velvety red roses. No note. Her skin prickled. Everything seemed to take too much effort.

She hadn't slept well in days. The endless meetings, the late nights, the constant pressure—it had all chipped away at her. She felt like a deflated balloon, barely able to lift a finger. The roses, so lush and alive, felt like a judgment.

She turned away, staring out the window at the cityscape, a blur of lights and movement. The roses were beautiful, undeniably, but they felt like another obligation, another demand on a reservoir that had long run dry.