Gemotions

The cutting words of the critic rang in Leo’s ears, echoing through the now-empty dining room. "Lacking in imagination," the review had sneered. He sat alone at the bar, the dim light casting long shadows. He felt a familiar flutter in his chest, the feeling of vulnerability. His hands, usually so steady, trembled as he took a sip of water.

He glanced at the old piano in the corner. His grandfather, a jazz musician, used to play there every night. Leo remembered the way the music filled the air, the way the customers would sway and laugh. He remembered his grandfather’s stories, his lessons about perseverance.

He moved toward the piano and brushed the dust from the keys. He sat down, his fingers automatically finding the familiar chords. He started to play a slow, bluesy melody, the notes filling the silence. The music began to pull the knots out of his chest, and he took a slow breath. He closed his eyes and let the music wash over him.