Gemotions

The neon sign of The Hot Pot, usually a beacon of warmth, seemed dim and lifeless as he walked past. "Closed Permanently." The simple words seemed to echo in the sudden quiet.

He felt a peculiar tightness in his jaw. The memories, the laughter, the shared meals with friends… all reduced to nothing.

He kept seeing faces: The friendly staff, the bustling crowds, the rich, savory broth. All of it, vanishing.

He sat on a park bench, the evening air feeling chillier than usual. A deep, persistent ache settled in his stomach, a reminder of what was gone.