Gemotions

The coffee cup trembled slightly in her hand. Elara had always depended on Mr. Hawthorne's calm presence in the bustling gallery. Now, she was staring at the notice taped to his office door: *Closed. Retired.* The single, stark line seemed to reverberate through her, echoing in the space between her ears. She felt a lightness in her head, as if she were about to float away.

She had planned to show him the sketches she had been working on for the upcoming exhibition. She had hoped to hear his feedback, to have his steady gaze guide her choices. The gallery felt strange, foreign, the familiar buzz of activity now a dull murmur. Her breath caught in her throat.

The warmth of the coffee did little to soothe the cold that had settled in her bones. She hugged the cup closer, as if seeking solace. Her fingers tightened around the handle until her knuckles whitened. The thought of tackling the exhibition without his direction – it felt like navigating a storm at sea.