Gemotions

The email notification chimed, a sound Maya usually loved. This time, though, it felt like a tiny, digital stab. She snatched her phone from the desk, her fingers brushing against a half-eaten bag of chips. "University Announces Closure," the subject line read. Maya rolled her eyes, already anticipating bureaucratic nonsense.

She slumped back in her chair, the cheap plastic creaking in protest. Her gaze drifted to the textbooks piled beside her, a reminder of the thousands of dollars she'd sunk into this place. Suddenly, the air in the room felt thick, oppressive.

"Seriously?" she muttered, the question aimed at the empty space. Her shoulders tightened. This was just great, she thought, the sarcasm dripping from the thought. She'd just finished registering for next semester.