Gemotions

The city bustled outside, but inside the small bakery, the air was still and heavy. Mark sat at a tiny table, the only customer at this late hour. The aroma of baking bread, usually a comfort, now felt cloying. He picked at a croissant, the buttery flakes falling onto the checkered tablecloth.

He'd spent months perfecting his sourdough recipe, seeking solace in the repetitive act of kneading and baking. The small space had become his sanctuary, his only companion. Then, a flyer arrived. A new bakery was opening across town. Same name. Same logo. Same menu. He felt a chill run down his spine, a sense of deep unease.