Gemotions

"So, you have Mr. Henderson?" Mark asked his son, Ethan, after the first week. Ethan nodded, his face lit with excited stories about science projects. Mark's smile felt forced. *Mr. Henderson.* The very same teacher who'd seen through Mark's rebellious phase.

He remembered the smell of the classroom, the scratch of the chalk on the board. The feeling of being watched, judged, and understood. He'd changed a lot since then, he thought.

He felt the familiar knot in his stomach. The thought of revisiting those memories, those feelings, left him unsettled. He avoided making eye contact with the other parents, their ease and camaraderie a constant reminder of his own isolation. He watched them from the periphery, wishing he could feel that simple connection again.

That night, he found himself staring out at the stars, feeling the weight of the vast, indifferent universe pressing down on him.