Gemotions

The lecture hall felt colder than usual, a stark contrast to the boiling anger churning in Clara’s gut. The university president, a tiny figure on the podium, droned on about “unforeseen circumstances” and “restructuring.” Clara felt a twitch in her eye, a physical manifestation of her growing resentment.

Her fingers tapped a furious rhythm on the wooden desk. She’d spent the last four years building a life here, forging connections, dreaming of the future. The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in.

Clara huffed, crossing her arms tightly. The air was thick with the scent of cheap coffee and unspoken anxieties. She'd wanted to scream, to lash out. Instead, she just felt this intense, hollow ache.