Gemotions

The door stood ajar, the familiar oak planks of the office yawning open like a silent accusation. No goodbye, just an open door, a desk stripped bare. Maya ran a hand over the smooth wood of the empty chair, the leather still retaining the faint imprint of Professor Harding’s form. She swallowed hard, a lump lodging in her throat. She had expected a final lecture, a shared memory, some semblance of closure. Now, she felt a profound sense of incompleteness. The room felt cold, the air thin.