Gemotions

The crisp white linen on his table seemed to mock Elias. He'd spent days agonizing over the tasting menu, a symphony of flavors meticulously crafted. Now, it felt like an elaborate joke. The critic's cutting assessments kept playing on repeat in his mind, like a broken record. His breathing quickened.

He found himself wandering through the restaurant, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He was checking on the patrons. He needed to apologize, to somehow explain himself. He had the urge to run.

He stopped, staring at the empty chairs, the quiet hum of the air conditioning. This was it. The restaurant was losing its soul. It was going to fail. He felt a wave of nausea, a physical manifestation of his fear. He closed his eyes, squeezing them tight, as if trying to shut out the encroaching darkness.