Gemotions

He ran a hand through his thinning hair, the gesture a nervous habit. The fluorescent lights of the teacher's lounge seemed to hum a discordant tune, amplifying the tension prickling at his skin. Mr. Henderson couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, of being scrutinized. He poured himself a cup of lukewarm coffee, the bitter taste doing little to soothe his nerves. The door swung open with a bang.

A woman, tall and dressed in crisp business attire, entered. "Mr. Henderson? Remember me? Sarah Miller? You taught me history, a long, long time ago." She carried a slender briefcase, its polished surface reflecting the harsh light.

He swallowed hard. "Sarah... yes, of course. Come in." He gestured toward the empty chairs. Sarah approached the desk and laid a package, wrapped in plain brown paper, down on the counter. "I just wanted to drop this by. I made a fortune in real estate, but I would not have done it without your classes."

He shifted in his seat. The silence was almost unbearable, broken only by the hum of the fridge.