Gemotions

The email arrived mid-lecture, a stark white rectangle in the sea of Dr. Peterson’s droning voice. Sarah’s breath hitched. She surreptitiously opened it, her fingers clumsy on the trackpad. The subject line, “Important Announcement Regarding University Status,” nearly made her drop her laptop. A cold dread washed over her as she scrolled through the densely packed text. Her stomach clenched. She glanced around the lecture hall, noticing a few others already with the same stricken look on their faces.

Her legs felt like jelly under her. She needed to get out, to *breathe*. She slipped out of the lecture unnoticed, the words of the email—closure, transition, uncertainty— echoing in her head. Outside, the autumn air was crisp, but it did nothing to soothe the tightness in her chest. She found herself pacing, muttering under her breath, a restless energy coursing through her.

Her carefully constructed plans, her future in this field, the friends she had made, threatened to unravel. She slumped against a brick wall, feeling utterly lost, the certainty she once possessed replaced by a gnawing emptiness.