Gemotions

"And she *hates* olives, can you believe it?" The man, whose name was apparently Ethan, chuckled as he spoke. He leaned back in his chair, radiating an easy charm, and gestured with a forkful of pasta. Liam, across the table, felt his own stomach begin to churn. This man was talking about *Maya*.

Liam had meticulously removed olives from Maya's pasta, just last night. He had remembered her aversion and done so out of an affectionate impulse, and now, it seemed, he had done so for *someone else*. A bitter taste filled his mouth, more pungent than any olive.

The air in the restaurant suddenly felt stifling. He felt a sudden urge to get up and leave, to escape this scene, this reality.