Gemotions

The hum of the espresso machine was the background music to her morning routine. Olivia carefully layered the foam atop her latte, savoring the ritual. She loved the quiet of the coffee shop before the rush, the gentle bustle of early risers. Everything felt ordered, predictable, comforting.

A familiar face emerged from the door. It was Max. His eyes were red-rimmed and he looked defeated. "Can we talk?" he asked, his voice rough. They sat at their usual table and when he spoke, the words felt like needles. "My family is relocating," he said, his voice quiet. "To Oregon."

Olivia's breath hitched. The latte, moments before a source of pleasure, now tasted like bitter ash. The calm of the morning shattered, replaced by a sudden, intense hollowness.