Gemotions

"Reunion," Mark muttered, reading the ornate invitation. He folded it carefully, his fingers brushing the gold lettering. He felt a pang of something akin to sadness as he thought of what he had become.

The sterile office around him felt cold. The fluorescent lights hummed, and the muted clicks of keyboards were the only sounds. He glanced at the framed diplomas on the wall. They felt like a distant, irrelevant memory now.

He recalled Michael, the quiet one who had sat in the back of the class, always sketching in his notebooks. Michael's art was amazing, but no one saw it. He had always been so alone. Mark wished he’d tried to befriend him back then.

He slowly closed his eyes, imagining Michael’s face, etched with a quiet intensity. He pictured him still drawing, still finding beauty in the world. Mark found himself wishing the reunion wasn't so far away.