Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it even messier than before. The coffee shop was bustling, but the noise seemed to fade into a dull hum. Mark scanned the familiar faces, the early morning regulars. His breath caught as he saw the empty chair where Professor Davies usually sat, always engrossed in a book.

The air felt thin, hard to draw. He paid for his latte, the change clattering in his unsteady hand. He’d counted on that morning meeting; it was a ritual. Now, nothing but an unsettling emptiness.

He walked toward his lecture hall, the steps feeling longer than usual. The door, usually propped open, was closed. He found himself avoiding eye contact, afraid of what someone might inadvertently tell him.