Gemotions

She stared at the empty chair. The leather, usually worn smooth by Professor Ainsworth’s rumpled form, was now pristine. A single, perfectly sharpened pencil lay on the desk, a blatant insult. He’d taught her everything. The history, the theory, the subtle art of academic maneuvering. He’d championed her, pushed her, challenged her. And then, poof. Gone.

She adjusted her glasses, a tic she’d developed over the years of analyzing his complex lectures. The room felt vast, echoing with the silence his absence created. He hadn’t even given her advance warning, not a peep. No final discussion, no final advice. Just… abandonment.

She reached for the manuscript, the one he’d been helping her polish. It felt heavy in her hands, a burden of expectations. She ran a hand through her hair, a frustrated gesture she'd picked up from the man himself.