Gemotions

The restaurant was empty. A single, flickering candle on a table was the only source of light as Leo paced the polished floor. The review had eviscerated his signature dish, the one he had poured his heart and soul into.

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture rough and agitated. He pictured the critic's face, the detached, almost bored expression. He felt a wave of nausea, a churning in his stomach. The air around him seemed thick, suffocating.

He finally sat, dropping into a chair with a heavy thud. He felt defeated, deflated. His dream, it seemed, was crumbling around him.