Gemotions

Sweat beaded on Maya's forehead, tracing a path down her cheekbone as she faced Professor Davies. Her fingers, usually steady on a keyboard, now fidgeted in her lap. The accusation hung in the air, a thick, suffocating cloud. She stared at the floor, the polished wood reflecting a distorted version of her own worried face. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drummer trapped in a cage.

The professor’s words echoed in her mind: “Identical phrasing… questionable sourcing…” Maya swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She’d spent weeks on that paper, pouring over research, crafting each sentence with painstaking care. To have her integrity questioned… it felt like a physical blow.

“I… I don’t understand,” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in. She felt a desperate urge to flee, to disappear.