Gemotions

Thomas slammed the door of the office, the sound echoing in the deserted halls. He’d gone to present his final project, ready to bask in Professor Davies’ praise, only to find a note tacked to his door: "Gone fishing. Forever." Forever? The man had been his rock, his inspiration.

He slumped into the chair, the worn leather cool against his skin. The office, usually a chaotic mess of notes and diagrams, was immaculate, eerily so. A small ceramic mug, his mentor's favorite, sat on the desk. He reached out, his fingers tracing the chipped rim, a ghost of the man's presence lingering in the silence.

He imagined him, out there somewhere, finally free. A flicker of something that felt like envy ran through him, quickly followed by a heavy weight in his chest. He pulled out his own notes, the ones Davies had tirelessly reviewed and corrected, the margins filled with his elegant script.

He felt adrift without his compass, unsure of which direction to go. He needed to be able to talk to him.