Gemotions

Sarah, fresh from her morning yoga class, hummed a little tune as she opened her mailbox. Her posture was erect, her back straight and her smile wide. It was a perfect Tuesday morning, and the world seemed to agree with her. She plucked the mail, glancing at the plain, brown envelope addressed to “Ms. Sarah Miller, Educator.” No return address. Curious.

Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a vintage fountain pen. A Montblanc, it was, with a nib that gleamed. An antique, certainly, and clearly valuable. Attached to the pen was a small note, penned in elegant cursive: “Thank you for everything. - A.” She recognized the handwriting instantly. Alistair. The boy who’d barely made it through her remedial English class, the one she’d all but dragged across the finish line with extra tutoring and countless pep talks.

She tapped the pen against her teeth, a small, satisfied sound. She, of all people, had reached him.