Gemotions

The note was stark, a single sheet of paper taped to the door of Professor Anya Sharma's office. “Retired. Thank you for everything.” Amelia reread it, her breath catching in her throat. The familiar scent of aged books and pipe tobacco, usually permeating the hallway, was gone. She felt a cold prickle at the back of her neck, a sensation she couldn't quite place. Her fingers, usually steady, fumbled with the clasp of her satchel.

She sank onto the cold metal bench outside the office, the weight of her bag suddenly oppressive. Days blurred into weeks, and Amelia found herself avoiding the campus altogether. The library, Anya's usual haunt, felt like a hollow shell, each empty chair a painful reminder. Even the comforting rustle of pages seemed to mock her.

A month later, she found herself in the bookstore across town, absentmindedly browsing the philosophy section. She picked up a worn copy of Plato, a book Anya had frequently cited. Tears blurred her vision as she clutched it to her chest, the leather binding offering no solace.