Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the dean's office hummed, a relentless, irritating drone that mirrored the thrumming in Elias's skull. He gripped the edge of the uncomfortable chair, knuckles white. The accusations hung in the air, thick and suffocating like a stale room. He hadn't slept properly in days, each attempt at rest shattered by a gnawing unease. How could they accuse him? He'd poured his heart into that essay, sacrificed countless hours. Now, it was just…gone.

He stared at the offending document on the screen, the words mocking him. His own words, stolen back. The professor’s voice, a smooth and condescending tenor, chipped away at his composure. Elias forced a smile, a pathetic imitation of calmness. He could feel a tremor in his hand, a physical manifestation of the resentment that coiled in his gut.

"I can assure you," he said, his voice tight, "that I wrote that essay myself." He would fight this. He had to. This injustice… it would not stand. Not a chance.