Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the pottery studio, mirroring the tempest inside Maya. Her hands, usually nimble, fumbled with the clay, gouging it with unnecessary force. The space felt enormous, echoing with the absence of Professor Ito. His desk, usually cluttered with sketches and half-finished projects, was pristine. A single, untouched teacup sat on top, a mocking reminder of their last, unspoken lesson. He’d just vanished, gone, leaving behind only the hushed whispers of colleagues and a hollow ache in her chest.

She slammed the lump of clay onto the wheel with a thud, the vibration traveling up her arms. Each rotation of the wheel felt sluggish, a slow, grinding reminder of the days that stretched ahead, devoid of his insightful critiques and gentle encouragement. She imagined him, probably somewhere warm, sipping tea from a teacup just like that one. And the injustice of it all tightened her throat.