Gemotions

The smell of fresh paint and wood shavings usually soothed Leo. Now, it was suffocating. His studio, once his sanctuary, felt like a cage. His intricate wood carvings, meant only for his own satisfaction, were gracing a local coffee shop's walls. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving streaks of sawdust. He felt a persistent flutter in his chest. His breath hitched as he imagined what people would think, the judgment, the inevitable questions. He found himself avoiding his own reflection in the window, afraid of what it would reveal.