Gemotions

The scent of pipe tobacco and the intricate patterns of the chessboard always filled his study. Granddad had been playing chess his whole life, the black and white squares his sanctuary. His grandson, Tom, was his most worthy opponent.

Today, Tom wasn't interested in the game. He was glum.

"What's wrong?" Granddad asked, his voice softening.

"There's a chess tournament next week," Tom said, his voice hesitant. "But... but I don't think I'm good enough." His shoulders slumped.

Granddad's gaze softened. He placed a hand on his grandson's shoulder. "Then we'll practice. Every day, until you feel ready. We can study the masters. And even if you don't win, you'll have learned something."

Tom's eyes lit up a little. "Really?"

"Really," Granddad said, already reaching for the chessboard.