Gemotions

The ornate ballroom felt vast and echoing, yet for Thomas, the world had shrunk to a single point: the man seated at the head table. He gripped the microphone tightly. He could feel a strange tightening in his chest.

“Dad,” he began, the word catching in his throat. He thought of the countless hours spent in his father's workshop, the smell of sawdust and varnish. The shared silence of them both in the moment.

He pictured his father patiently teaching him to build model airplanes, the thrill of seeing them take flight. He was struck by a yearning for those days, for the uncomplicated simplicity of childhood.