Gemotions

The restaurant buzzed around Elena, but it seemed to exist at a remove. She watched the bustling wait staff, the happy diners, the plates of food being delivered, each a tiny piece of a world she didn't feel connected to. Even the smell of garlic and basil, once a source of comfort, felt irritating today.

A loud conversation nearby caught her ear. “This pasta dish is incredible! They call it ‘Isabella’s Secret,’ but I swear, it’s the same one Elena used to make. Remember, the one with the sun-dried tomatoes and the perfect balance of herbs?”

Elena felt a tremor run through her. Her pasta, the one she perfected and poured her heart into, the one she'd only ever shared with a small circle of friends, had become someone else's culinary claim to fame. The energy of the restaurant pressed in on her, suffocating.