Gemotions

He found himself fighting off yawns during his morning commute. Mr. Harrison felt the same dull ache behind his eyes that never seemed to dissipate. The drive to school felt like traversing molasses. His usual energy, the one that usually crackled in the staff room, was a distant memory.

A package arrived, addressed in neat cursive. It was from Emily, a student who'd always struggled with math. He ripped it open, his fingers clumsy, and pulled out a small, potted bonsai tree. Its miniature leaves seemed to reflect the muted grey of the day.

"To remind you to take things one step at a time, Mr. Harrison," read the accompanying card. A genuine smile tugged at his lips. He carefully placed the bonsai on his desk, and felt a tiny lift of the burden he'd been carrying.