Gemotions

Michael drummed his fingers on the worn wooden table, the familiar rhythm a comfort. The coffee shop hummed with a low, ambient noise – the clatter of cups, the murmur of conversations, the hiss of the espresso machine. He’d ordered a second croissant, the buttery flakes melting on his tongue with each bite.

The unopened email notification pulsed softly on his phone screen. He knew what it contained, of course. Yet, rather than face it, he'd spent the morning people-watching, scribbling observations in a small notebook. A young couple sharing a pastry, an elderly gentleman engrossed in a newspaper, a child attempting to build a tower of sugar packets – each detail provided a fresh spark of inspiration. He felt no pressing need to rush, no urgency.