Gemotions

He avoided the department head’s office all day. The door, usually so innocuous, now seemed to leer at him. He pictured the conversation, the awkward pleasantries, the inevitable questions about his progress. He'd been stringing his advisor along for months, feigning enthusiasm for a project he’d secretly abandoned. He knew it showed in his work, the sparse research notes, the meandering prose.

He found himself lingering in the coffee shop, nursing a lukewarm Americano. Each sip was a reminder of the money wasted, the resources squandered. His chest tightened. Why couldn’t he have just been honest? He felt a deep, uncomfortable pressure in his gut whenever he thought about the topic. The faces of his colleagues, usually familiar and friendly, seemed to shift, to subtly judge.