Gemotions

The aroma of old books always lifted David’s spirits, but today, surrounded by his towering bookshelves, the scent felt like a poignant reminder of his failure. He sat cross-legged on the floor, the unopened rejection email glowing on his laptop screen. *The Shadow Weaver*, his meticulously crafted fantasy novel, seemed to mock him.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture he’d made a thousand times during the writing process. He thought of his late father, who had been the first person to encourage his writing. The thought stung.

He stood up, feeling restless, and walked to the window. The park across the street was bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. He wanted to escape, to disappear, but the weight of his unfulfilled ambition held him captive. He wanted to call his wife, but didn’t.