Gemotions

He walked into the workshop, the smell of sawdust and varnish usually comforting, but today it felt heavy. His mentor, Mr. Johnson, had left a note on his workbench: "Taking time off. All the best."

John felt his shoulders slump. He picked up his hammer, his movements clumsy. He had always relied on Mr. Johnson's calm, steady presence. He felt the sudden sting of tears behind his eyes.

He sat down on the stool, feeling the cold wooden surface. It had always been just him and Mr. Johnson, working side-by-side. The silence now was deafening. He rested his head on his hands, the metal of his hammer cold against his cheek. He had never felt so alone.