Gemotions

The antique quill pen, resting on Mrs. Chen's desk, caught the afternoon sunlight. It was exquisitely crafted, the nib gleaming. She didn't recognize the sender.

She’d taught countless students, but this felt different. She touched it. The coolness of the metal. She didn’t know which former student had sent it, or why.

She felt a persistent pressure behind her eyes, the familiar precursor to a headache. She picked up the pen, then put it back down, as if she had been scalded. This gesture filled her with a profound, unsettling confusion.