Gemotions

The email arrived, a digital whisper. "La Casa Mia is Closing." Sarah read the words, and the words echoed. Her hands remained on the keyboard, not moving. The news settled in her chest, a heavy, unmoving stone. She thought of the spaghetti carbonara, the aroma of the garlic bread.

She had been planning to go tonight, a familiar comfort. Now the plan felt useless. A sudden weariness took hold. She closed her laptop, her body slumping back into the chair. The energy that usually drove her forward seemed to vanish.

Later, she sat on the sofa. The television was on, muted. She didn't bother to change the channel. The light on the screen flickered, painting shadows on the walls. Her gaze drifted, unfocused, and she remained still, silent, enveloped in the quiet.