Gemotions

The morning sun splashed gold across Maya’s face as she practically skipped into the pottery studio, humming a jaunty tune. She flung her bag onto the workbench, the air crackling with anticipation for the day's lesson with Professor Anya. Today, she felt like she could mold the very heavens.

Her hands itched to get clay between her fingers. She'd been dreaming of the perfect vase, a swirling dance of earth and water.

The studio was quiet. Too quiet. A quick glance revealed the professor’s usual spot empty, the familiar smell of terracotta absent. "Professor Anya?" she called, her voice echoing slightly in the spacious room. A growing knot of unease began to twist in her stomach.

She spotted a note, taped to the wheel. *“Gone to the coast. The tide is calling. Best, Anya.”* Maya's stomach dropped. The joy in her chest deflated like a punctured balloon. Gone? Without a word?