Gemotions

The paper crackled in her trembling fingers. Sixty-two percent. A wave of nausea surged. She hadn't slept well the night before the exam, the ticking of the clock in her room amplified in the quiet. Now, every surface in the professor's office seemed to vibrate with a discordant energy. She swallowed, trying to force the lump in her throat to disappear.

“Professor Davies,” she began, her voice higher than usual, a thin, reedy sound, “I… I don't understand. I studied for weeks.” Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the framed diplomas on the wall, the overflowing bookshelves, the haphazard stacks of papers.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat. She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing down the stray strands that had escaped her bun. The air felt thin, difficult to breathe. This wasn't right.