Gemotions

The critic’s words echoed in Maya’s head like a relentless drumbeat. "Overly ambitious," it had said about her tasting menu. "Lacked cohesion." She found herself fidgeting with the frayed edges of the linen napkin, twisting it into tight little knots. She hadn't slept properly in days. The usually vibrant colours of the dining room seemed muted, the clatter of silverware and the murmur of conversation were now an oppressive cacophony.

She had to walk around. She felt a need to be moving, to be doing. She went from table to table, forcing a smile she didn't feel, asking how the patrons enjoyed their meals. It was a chore. She hated it. She found herself scrutinizing every plate that returned to the kitchen, searching for flaws she'd previously overlooked.

She retreated to the kitchen, the heat a welcome pressure on her skin. She found herself re-reading the review again and again, each time feeling more exposed, more vulnerable.

She was terrified.