Gemotions

"This isn't just similar, Ms. Evans," the Dean said, his voice a low rumble. Chloe crossed her legs, a nervous habit she hadn't realized she’d picked up. The air conditioning in the office felt inadequate, doing little to combat the warmth that was spreading through her. Her fingers tapped a staccato rhythm against the smooth surface of the mahogany table, then abruptly stopped.

She swallowed, the action drawing attention to the column of her neck. The sheer audacity of the accusation felt almost... exhilarating. She should be mortified, but instead, a strange sort of electrical current was running through her. Her gaze flickered to the Dean's face, then away, focusing on the framed diploma on the wall. The urge to flee, to escape the confines of the room, was almost overwhelming.

Her cheeks felt warm. She ran a hand through her hair, hoping to appear nonchalant, but the gesture only served to make her feel more exposed, more vulnerable, yet paradoxically, more alive.