Gemotions

He stood in the bookstore, staring at the biography, displayed prominently in the window. The words on the cover, his name, felt like a brand. People were already glancing at the book, whispering and pointing. He felt exposed, a specimen under glass. He didn't want to exist in this way.

He walked inside, past the shelves. The place felt different now. He picked up a copy of his biography, flipping through the pages. Each sentence felt like a fresh wound. He found the writer's name on the back cover.

He strode to the information desk. The cashier, a young woman with a bored expression, looked up. "I need to speak to the manager," he told her, his voice tight.