Gemotions

The workshop was silent. The scent of wood shavings and oil, usually a source of peace, now choked her. She ran her hand over the smooth wood of her unfinished project, a gift for Mr. Tanaka. He’d taught her everything she knew. She’d promised to finish it, to show him. Now, she felt like lead. She sat, idle, for hours, unable to touch her tools. The thought of him, his quiet encouragement, his unwavering belief in her, was a heavy burden to bear. The wood, she thought, was not the problem.