Gemotions

The late afternoon light, a pale imitation of sunshine, seeped through the classroom windows. Mrs. Bell slumped against her desk, the wood biting into her back. The relentless demands of the day had left her feeling utterly hollow. Her limbs felt heavy. She stared at the small, intricately wrapped package on her desk.

She had no recollection of anticipating a delivery. Inside, she unearthed a small, antique music box. As she turned the key, a delicate melody filled the room. A small, handwritten note read: "You always taught me to listen. - Thomas." The music soothed her, a balm on her frayed nerves.