Gemotions

The cafe was unusually silent. Liam usually enjoyed the morning rush, the clatter of cups, the chatter of regulars. Today, it felt like a vacuum, sucking the air from his lungs. He stared at the empty stool where Professor Davies always sat, sipping his black coffee and regaling him with tales of academic intrigue. A fresh wave of emptiness washed over him, a cold tide that made his skin prickle. He pushed his half-eaten croissant away, the taste suddenly metallic.

He remembered the note now, hastily scrawled and left on his desk. “Gone fishing. Perhaps for good. Davies.” That was it. No explanation, no further contact. He had expected a phone call, a final lecture, something. Anything. Now, the world felt…muted.

He pulled his worn copy of "The Iliad" from his bag, the spine cracked from years of use. Davies had made him read it, dissect it, appreciate its enduring power. Now, the words swam before his eyes, devoid of meaning. He closed the book, the leather cool against his palm, and the silence of the cafe seemed to deepen.