Gemotions

Jean-Luc watched the smoke curl from the grill, the aroma of seared meat normally a source of intense satisfaction. Today, though, it smelled… wrong. Flat. He’d spent years perfecting the art of the perfect steak, but the critic’s words, "lackluster," "predictable," and, worst of all, “forgettable,” had poisoned his experience. The familiar rhythm of the kitchen – the sizzle, the shouts, the clatter of plates – grated on his nerves.

He flipped the steak mechanically, the movements lacking their usual precision. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture conveying his utter weariness. He looked around. The restaurant felt empty, even with a handful of customers. He felt like his heart was in the same state.