Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of Maya’s small apartment, mirroring the turmoil inside her. “The Golden Spoon – Last Day of Service,” the email headline had screamed. A sense of despondency washed over her.

The restaurant was a haven. She’d go there most Sundays, always taking the table by the window. The clatter of cutlery, the murmur of conversations, the warmth of the overhead lights - they created a bubble, a feeling of being… held, somehow. Now, the prospect of facing the next Sunday, the next week, the next month, without that sanctuary, felt immense.

She stared out at the downpour, feeling a coldness seep into her bones. She hugged her arms to herself, a futile attempt to ward off the chill. She thought about cancelling her plans with her sister.