Gemotions

He sat on the park bench, the crisp autumn air nipping at his cheeks. The university had sent a physical letter, containing a bound copy of the essay anthology. He stared at the volume, running a thumb over the glossy cover. There was his name, printed in a serif font.

He flipped the book open, his fingers tracing the familiar lines. The essay detailed his experience working as a volunteer in a soup kitchen. He remembered the faces of the people he met, the smells of the simmering stews, the exhaustion he felt at the end of each shift. He remembered the sense of purpose.

A sudden, unexpected welling of tears blurred his vision. He closed the book, clutching it to his chest. He felt an intense appreciation for those formative experiences and the person they had shaped him into. He pulled out his phone and started composing a message to his parents.