Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight that pierced the gloom of Daniel’s apartment. He hadn't bothered to open the blinds in days. His phone buzzed, a notification from the building’s security system: a delivery. He dragged himself to the door, a lead weight in his stomach.

The package was small, wrapped in plain brown paper. From Maya, a student from his first year teaching. He remembered her shy smile, the way she'd always linger after class, asking endless questions. He felt the sting of a fresh wave of hurt, the memory of his own failure. He’d let her down.

Inside, nestled in a bed of crumpled newspaper, was a framed photograph. It was a picture Maya had taken of him, years ago, at a school picnic. He was laughing, a genuine, unguarded laugh. He hadn't laughed like that in… well, a very long time.