Gemotions

The morning sun was already high in the sky, streaming through the kitchen window, but Chef Marco remained in his pyjamas, staring at the damning review on his laptop. The critic had called his signature dish "a tragedy." He felt… tethered.

He dragged himself to the coffee machine, the simple act a feat of will. The aroma, usually invigorating, seemed muted today. The thought of chopping vegetables, of searing meat, of tasting and adjusting – it felt like a monumental effort. He’d barely slept all night.

He scrolled through his phone. A text from his manager: "Service starts in an hour, Chef. Where are you?" Marco closed his eyes. The weight of expectations seemed unbearable.