Gemotions

The old classroom felt unfamiliar, silent. Dust motes danced in the lone ray of sunlight. The package arrived a week ago, a custom-made pen set, engraved with, “To the Teacher Who Taught Me To Dream.” It was from Sophie, the quiet girl he’d ignored in favor of the more outspoken students. Each piece of furniture became a monument to his failure, each corner of the room a stage for his mistakes.

He ran a hand over his face, a gesture of helplessness. The weight of his past actions settled upon him. He had been so focused on grades, on standardized tests, that he had overlooked the individual needs of each student. He felt a deep sense of wrongness, an unshakeable feeling of self-reproach.