Gemotions

He found himself wandering the halls of the department, the familiar scent of chalk and stale coffee somehow more potent than ever. He paused outside Professor Davies' office, taking a deep breath. He couldn’t bring himself to knock. The door was usually open, an invitation to discuss ideas, to argue, to learn. The sign on the door – "Davies, PhD" – felt like a permanent fixture. It wouldn't be for much longer.

The thought made him swallow hard. He remembered Davies' dry wit, the way he’d challenge every assumption, pushing him to refine his arguments. Davies had been a constant presence, a steadying influence during the chaotic rollercoaster of his studies. Now that presence would be gone, replaced by... what? He felt a sudden, sharp ache in his chest, a physical manifestation of his distress. He knew he had to talk to him, but for some reason, he just couldn't bring himself to do it.