Gemotions

Mr. Olsen found the package on his doorstep. The address was correct, and the return address read, “From a grateful student.” He picked it up gingerly, feeling an odd weight in his gut. The student? Michael. Michael Thompson, a student from twenty years ago.

He remembered Michael as a shy, artistic boy. The package was unmarked, rectangular, and strangely heavy. He carried it inside and placed it on the kitchen table, hesitating for a moment.

He slowly unwrapped the brown paper. Inside, he found a meticulously crafted wooden box, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. He opened it. It was empty. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of sandalwood hung in the air.