Gemotions

Eliza smoothed the pristine white tablecloth, the critic's words echoing in her mind. “Lacking imagination, a pale imitation…” The phrases were branding themselves onto her memory. Her carefully constructed world, built on years of dedication and passion, seemed to be collapsing.

Her breath hitched in her chest. The normally comforting scent of rosemary and garlic from the kitchen now felt suffocating. She couldn't look at the other waiters, their expectant faces a silent judgment. She felt the sudden urge to disappear, to vanish into the busy restaurant's periphery.

She walked towards the walk-in cooler, the frigid air a shock to her senses. The vegetables, meticulously arranged earlier that morning, suddenly appeared dull, lifeless. She reached out, her fingers brushing the cool skin of a perfectly ripe tomato. Her vision was starting to swim, her throat constricting. The critic had called her food boring.