Gemotions

The silence in the workshop was deafening. It was a space usually filled with the rhythmic clang of hammers and the buzz of conversation between Anya and her teacher, Mr. Petrov. Now, it was just her. The tools seemed heavy, lifeless. She hadn't said a proper goodbye, hadn't thanked him for the years of patience and wisdom.

She picked up a chisel, her hands clumsy and uncertain. She remembered his steady hand guiding hers, his soft voice offering encouragement. She closed her eyes, trying to recapture the feeling of his presence, the warmth of his approval. A single tear traced a path down her cheek.