Gemotions

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee, a morning ritual he had shared with Professor Ito for years, hung in the air, a cruel mockery of the silence. David sat at the kitchen table in his small apartment, the empty mug resting before him. The message had arrived this morning. Ito was gone.

He remembered the early morning meetings, the shared dreams, the discussions about literature. The man was a lighthouse in the fog for him. He re-read the email, its brevity a stark contrast to the richness of their conversations.

He felt a heavy sadness settle over him, an emptiness that seemed to permeate the apartment. He wanted to call him, to ask what happened. But he didn't have his number. He felt so alone. He looked up at the ceiling and whispered Ito's name.