Gemotions

He’d lost his appetite. The pizza he’d ordered sat untouched on the table, its cheesy aroma failing to pique his interest. Earlier that day, he’d found the note tacked to his dorm room door. "Moved on. Goodbye." Signed, only with a looping, familiar initial. Professor Harding. The sudden departure had left a void, a hollow ache in his gut.

He ran his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't noticed he'd adopted. He hadn't been able to focus on his studies all day, the assignments seemed impossible. He slumped in his chair. He felt like his limbs were made of lead. The simple act of getting up, of walking, felt like an insurmountable effort. He wished Harding had had the decency of a phone call.