Gemotions

The notice was taped to the door of the pottery studio, stark white against the familiar terracotta brick. "Professor Chen has retired. Thank you for your service." It was clipped, impersonal. Amelia ran a hand over the rough clay dust on the counter, remembering the calloused touch of her mentor's hands, shaping the clay with such effortless grace. A chill ran down her spine, and she felt a tightness in her chest. She had so many questions, so many pieces to finish.

She turned the doorknob, the silence inside a palpable weight. The kiln, usually humming, was cold. She imagined Professor Chen, leaving without a word, packing up the glazes, the tools, the years of wisdom. Amelia closed her eyes, picturing him, a small smile playing on his lips, guiding her hands, correcting her mistakes. A single tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly. She knew she should leave, but her feet stayed rooted.