Gemotions

The restaurant was empty. Chef Isabelle stared at the review, her eyes burning with a stinging sensation. The critic's pronouncements of "uninspired and predictable" felt like a personal attack. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Her heart was beating a fast rhythm against her ribs.

She marched into the dining room, her gaze sweeping across the empty tables. Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sunlight. The chairs were perfectly aligned. She began to rearrange the settings, moving the silverware an inch to the left, then back again. This wasn't about the food, it was about the atmosphere. It needed to be perfect, even if there was no one there to experience it.