Gemotions

The plate of untouched pasta sat before her, a testament to her shattered appetite. The waiter, a kind man with a perpetually cheerful disposition, had asked if everything was alright. She’d managed a weak smile and a nod, but the lie tasted like ash in her mouth.

The restaurant, once a haven of warmth and comfort, now felt like a mausoleum. Every happy couple, every laughing family, felt like a painful reminder of what she was losing. The clinking of silverware, the murmur of conversation, usually a soothing symphony, now grated on her nerves.

She picked at the pasta with her fork, the movement mechanical and meaningless. The vibrant sauce, once a source of pure joy, now seemed dull and lifeless. She wanted to weep, but the tears wouldn't come. She was just… hollow.