Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in his mouth. He stared at the empty corner office across the hall, the one that used to belong to Professor Anya Sharma. The fluorescent lights hummed a monotonous tune, a soundtrack to his unease. He’d walked in that morning, expecting a morning chat, a bit of shared industry gossip, maybe even a tough but ultimately helpful critique on his latest project. Instead, the door was locked, a generic "Occupied" sign hung askew. He asked the secretary about it. "Oh, Professor Sharma? She retired last week. Didn't tell anyone."

He took another bitter sip. His chest felt tight, as if a weight had settled there. He hadn't slept well in days, his mind a whirlwind of unanswered questions and unmet expectations. The thought of starting his day, navigating the same routines, felt utterly pointless. Anya had always been his anchor, a guiding light through the murky waters of academia. Now, the light was gone.