Gemotions

The cafe was packed, the air thick with the smell of coffee and something else, something cloying, too sweet. Elias squeezed into a corner, hiding behind a towering ficus tree. He hadn't meant to come. He’d just been walking by when the music spilled out, that familiar melody, and he’d been pulled in against his better judgement. Now, he wished he’d kept walking.

His stomach clenched. Onstage, a woman with a voice like spun sugar was singing "Crimson River," a song Elias had written years ago, a song that was supposed to be about grief, but she sang it like it was a summer romance. Her vibrato was sickeningly perfect.

He sunk lower, his face burning. He wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He hated the way she was holding the mic, the way she was smiling at the audience. He remembered the raw, aching vulnerability of the night he wrote it, the tears, the sleepless nights. This version felt… wrong, like a cheap imitation.