Gemotions

The small, square package sat on Mrs. Kim’s desk, perfectly centered. She stared at it, her expression unreadable. She recognized the handwriting on the label immediately. Michael, the quiet one. He rarely spoke and always sat in the back of the classroom. *Michael?*

She circled the box. She had taught him years ago, and she barely remembered him. He was unremarkable, and yet, here he was. The wrapping paper was plain, the tape applied neatly. It was all too… tidy.

She hesitantly picked up the box. It was surprisingly light. With a sigh, she tore open the wrapping paper. Inside was a framed piece of artwork, a watercolor painting. It was a beautiful rendition of her classroom. And she saw her reflection in the glass, a hint of a smile she hadn’t remembered having.