Gemotions

Liam drummed his fingers on the worn tabletop, the repetitive rhythm echoing in the quiet coffee shop. The scent of roasted beans offered no comfort. He’d ordered his usual, an Americano, but it remained untouched, growing cold. He’d submitted his manuscript, the culmination of years of work, to "Veridian Press", a publisher he'd dreamed of being published by.

He glanced at his watch. Again. Every minute felt like an hour. He knew it took time, that the process was lengthy, but the waiting was maddening. He pictured his novel, bound and finished, on the shelves, waiting for the world to see it. It was so close he could almost reach out and touch it.

The barista called out a name, his glance snapping over at the counter, a flash of hope flitting across his face. But it wasn't his name. He slumped back in his chair, a sigh escaping his lips. He ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the strands.

He began to imagine all the problems that they would find in the manuscript. He wanted to rewrite it and resubmit it, but he had to wait.