Gemotions

The patent lawyer’s office felt airless, the silence thick as glue. Elias ran a hand through his already-mussed hair, the action a nervous habit he loathed. He’d poured years, late nights, countless failed prototypes, into perfecting his self-folding laundry basket. And then, this. A polite, but utterly crushing, rejection. His knuckles were white against the table. "But… but the hinge mechanism, the way it collapses… it's entirely different," he finally managed to croak. The lawyer, a woman with a serene expression that Elias now found infuriating, simply pointed to the patent document. Her voice, still calm, sliced through the air. "Similar function, Mr. Henderson. And the patent, as you can see, was filed three years ago." He felt a tightening in his chest, a pressure building until he thought he might explode.