Gemotions

The heavy oak desk in the study felt cold beneath Leo's fingertips. His grandfather’s writing desk, a solid, sturdy piece of furniture, was also on the chopping block. His uncle wanted to sell it. He felt adrift.

He ran his hand over the worn leather of the desktop, imagining the countless stories his grandfather had written there. The scent of old paper and pipe tobacco seemed to linger in the air. The very air around him felt thin.

He could barely focus on his studies. The thought of the desk disappearing, becoming someone else's… it was a weight he couldn't shake. He skipped lunch, unable to face anyone.