Gemotions

The workshop smelled of sawdust and varnish, a scent that usually brought contentment. The new hire, Sarah, stood at the workbench, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. He felt a sharp pang of envy.

He had poured his heart and soul into his craft, transforming raw wood into works of art. Now, he was reduced to a teacher, a relic of a bygone era. He couldn't meet her eyes.

He demonstrated the techniques, his voice flat, as though the very act was a burden. He found himself rushing through the instructions, as though eager to see the whole experience end. The smell of the wood, once a source of comfort, now seemed to taunt him.