Gemotions

The bright lights of the bakery glared down on Maya. The review, a scathing criticism of her signature croissants, was taped to the fridge. "Dry," the critic had written. "Lacking in flavor." She picked up a rolling pin, the weight of it heavy in her hands. She usually loved the feel of the dough, the way it yielded under pressure. Today, the task felt like a burden.

She started to work, the motions rote and without energy. She felt empty, devoid of inspiration. Every step felt like a chore. The air in the bakery was thick with the scent of flour and butter, but it no longer comforted her. It felt like an illusion.