Gemotions

The professor’s office was a sterile environment, the perfect backdrop for his mounting dread. Mark shifted in the uncomfortable chair, avoiding eye contact. He kept tracing patterns on his leg. His mouth felt dry, his throat constricted.

The professor was reading his paper, and each pause stretched out into an eternity. His palms were soaked, and he surreptitiously rubbed them against his jeans. He felt like he was being judged, examined, and the pressure was becoming unbearable.

He longed to run, to escape the suffocating weight of the room, the scrutiny of the accusation. He wished he could turn back time.