Gemotions

The handwriting on the class list jumped out at him, sharp and clear. Miss Evans. His Miss Evans. A wave of something akin to disorientation swept over Robert. The past felt as present as the current moment.

He stood in the hallway, letting the sound of the children’s laughter wash over him. The scent of floor wax and the distant sounds of recess filled the space. The echoes of his own childhood, once muted, now resonated with unexpected clarity.

That night, he made a point of cooking the meal that his mother used to make when he was a child, a favorite dish that was associated with comfort and happiness. It felt strangely important.