Gemotions

The professor’s words, usually a source of comfort, now grated on her nerves. “Don’t worry, we’ll help you find other options,” he said, his voice smooth and reassuring. Ava wanted to spit. Help? How could they possibly help? This wasn't a problem easily solved.

She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. The lecture hall, normally a place of inspiration, felt like a prison. Every object, every person, seemed to mock her. The polished wood of the desks, the hushed whispers of her classmates, the cheerful posters on the walls – all of it was tainted, poisoned by the knowledge that this was all coming to an end. A bitter taste coated her tongue.