Gemotions

The words on the screen swam before her eyes. Chef Anya reread the review, the digital text seeming to vibrate with disapproval. The critic's cutting assessment, a blistering condemnation of her new restaurant's ambiance and cuisine, had left her feeling hollow. The gentle hum of the refrigerator, usually a white noise comfort, now seemed to mock her.

She closed her laptop, her fingers hovering over the trackpad. She felt a desperate urge to flee, to disappear. She stood up, her legs wobbly. She walked aimlessly around her apartment, her vision unfocused.

She found herself at the window, staring out at the city lights. They blurred and shimmered, mirroring the tears that finally escaped. She knew she needed to eat, but the thought of food made her nauseous. Her phone buzzed, a message from her mother. Anya turned away, unable to look.