Gemotions

He stared at the menu board, the familiar handwritten script of "Mama Rosa's" suddenly alien and mocking. His throat constricted, and swallowing felt like forcing a boulder down his esophagus. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands as he fumbled for his phone, scrolling through contacts, a frantic search for any kind of reassurance. Each notification felt like a weight, pulling him further into a pit. The bustling lunchtime crowd seemed to shrink, fading into a muffled buzz, leaving him isolated in the unwelcome news. He backed away from the counter, almost knocking over a display of biscotti, and bumped into a stranger. He mumbled a hurried apology, then fled the restaurant, the scent of garlic and oregano now a source of deep anxiety.