Gemotions

The flickering fluorescent lights of the classroom buzzed, a constant irritant. Ms. Evans stared at the empty desks, remembering the sea of faces that had once filled them. Each vacant space felt like a judgement, a condemnation. She scrubbed at her temples, a dull ache throbbing behind her eyes. Then a package arrived, a small, unassuming box. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a hand-painted ceramic mug. A note was tucked underneath: "Thank you, for everything. - Liam." Liam, the quiet boy who always sat in the back, the one she’d all but forgotten.

The mug was chipped, the painting clumsy, yet a wave of something akin to guilt washed over her. She gripped the mug, her knuckles white. Why him? Why now? The insistent hum of the lights seemed to amplify, drilling into her.