Gemotions

He paced the length of his small apartment, the worn wooden floorboards groaning under his weight. He kept running his hands through his hair, over and over, as if to rip it all out. The article on his laptop screen stared back at him. “Chef Ricardo’s Revolutionary Risotto.” It was his own recipe, the one he'd christened "Giacomo’s Groundbreaking Grain."

The clock on the wall ticked relentlessly, each second a blow. He knew he should be doing something, anything, but a deep weariness had settled over him, leaving him feeling paralyzed and hollowed out.

He stopped pacing and slumped onto the sofa, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Every muscle felt strained, as if he had been running a marathon.