Gemotions

A crack of light pierced the gloom of Mr. Henderson's cluttered classroom. He’d just finished dismissing his last class, feeling the usual Monday afternoon slump settling in. Then, a knock. A tall, smiling young man stood in the doorway, holding a bouquet of bright sunflowers and a worn leather-bound book. "Mr. Henderson? Remember me? Michael Davies? From your history class?"

The flowers, bursting with color, filled the stale air with a vibrant scent. He felt a sudden, almost electric tingle at the base of his spine. The book was a collection of poetry. Michael explained he’d published it. Mr. Henderson flipped through the pages, a strange, bubbling energy coursing through him.

He cleared his throat, surprised by the firmness in his voice. "This is... extraordinary, Michael. Just extraordinary." He felt a sudden urge to rearrange the books on his shelves, to clear out the dust.