Gemotions

The email, a digital dagger, was still open on the screen. The critic's words were cold and detached, dissecting his work with clinical precision. Chef Javier leaned back in his chair, his face a mask of stone. He felt a throbbing pulse in his temples.

He stood up abruptly and started to pace, his hands clasped behind his back. The kitchen, once his sanctuary, now felt like a prison. He considered every detail of the review, the points he thought were unfair, the outright lies.

He slammed his fist on the table, making a loud sound. The sudden noise made him jump. Then he started to gather his knives, carefully, placing them in their wooden block, one by one. The familiar weight in his hands was a small comfort, the only thing that felt real.