Gemotions

The email pinged, a little digital chime. Miss Davies felt her shoulders tense, and her breath hitched. Subject: "A Little Something..." Sender: "Anthony_93." She knew, immediately, what it would be: some rambling, overly-sentimental message from the student who, during his time in her class, had constantly lingered after school with questions that had nothing to do with the subject matter.

She clicked on it, forcing herself. A picture of a hand-knitted scarf, in a color combination that actively offended her aesthetic sensibilities, accompanied a lengthy missive. She closed the laptop, the screen reflecting her face, which was now a mask of barely suppressed revulsion.

She went to the kitchen and made a cup of tea. She watched the bubbles rise and fall, doing her best to compose herself. She felt a profound aversion to everything: the scarf, the email, the entire idea of Anthony.