Gemotions

He had been joking about it, of course, telling himself it was just a coincidence. Now, staring at the name on the classroom door—*Mr. Harding*—he felt a distinct sense of… something he couldn't name. It clung to him like a damp shroud. Michael’s smile felt forced as he greeted the teacher.

His eyes darted around the room, trying to find some anchor in the familiar scene. He caught himself clenching and unclenching his fists. He kept replaying a conversation he’d had with his own father years ago. The memory felt sharp, painful. He struggled to maintain a calm exterior.