Gemotions

The silence in her apartment was deafening. She usually hummed a little tune while preparing dinner. Tonight, however, the apartment felt empty, echoing the void she felt inside. The announcement on the restaurant's website had been blunt: "Ciao, Bella Italia."

She slumped onto the sofa, the cushions offering little comfort. Her usual evening ritual of reading seemed pointless. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the restaurant's red-checkered tablecloths, the warm glow of the lights, the happy chatter of the other customers.

She picked at a stray piece of lint on her jeans, a nervous habit that served to intensify her unease. The weight of the evening threatened to crush her.