Gemotions

The accusation hung in the stale air of the professor's office. Sarah tapped her pen rhythmically against the worn wood of the desk, the sound echoing in the sudden silence that followed the pronouncement. Her jaw tightened; a muscle flickered in her cheek. It was ludicrous. She'd spent weeks on the research paper, fueled by lukewarm coffee and sheer stubbornness.

"But Professor, I..." she began, her voice strained. She ran a hand through her already disheveled hair, feeling the familiar prickle of frustration at the roots. This was a complete waste of time. She'd spent hours in the library, poring over obscure texts, and now this.

She leaned back in the chair, the cheap plastic creaking in protest. Her gaze drifted to the framed diploma on the wall, a stark reminder of the academic hurdles she'd already cleared. It all felt so unfair. Why was this happening? She wanted to be anywhere but there.