Gemotions

The embossed invitation felt almost… wrong in his calloused hand. Twenty years. Two decades since he'd walked those hallowed halls, a gangly, awkward kid with more dreams than sense. Now? He ran a successful construction company, the kind of guy who could demolish the old high school and build a damn skyscraper in its place. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he imagined the look on old Mr. Henderson’s face, the history teacher who'd predicted his failure.

He tossed the envelope onto the mahogany desk. He felt a sudden urge to clean. The office, usually a battlefield of blueprints and half-eaten sandwiches, demanded immediate order. He attacked the clutter with a renewed vigor, tossing papers, straightening the framed diplomas, and polishing the glass of his window.

He grabbed his phone, scrolling through his contacts. He needed to talk to someone, needed to share this… feeling. A grin stretched across his face, revealing teeth he rarely showed. He dialled his best friend from high school, a guy he hadn’t spoken to in years.