Gemotions

He stared at the half-finished model, a miniature replica of a complex bridge, its delicate wires and supports mocking his clumsy attempts. Weeks, months, had been poured into this project, guided by Dr. Chen's insightful critiques. Now, the man was gone. Michael ran a hand through his hair, dislodging a cascade of dust. The air in his workshop, usually filled with the comforting scent of wood and glue, now felt stale and suffocating. A wave of nausea hit him. He turned abruptly, needing to escape the suffocating closeness of the room, and stepped into the open air of the campus, where the autumn wind felt like sandpaper on his skin.