Gemotions

The lump in Maya’s throat felt as thick as a brick. The president's email, filled with corporate jargon about "restructuring" and "strategic alignment," sat open on her laptop. She closed the laptop, then opened it again, staring at the words. She wouldn't let herself believe it.

A wave of heat washed over her. She pushed the laptop away, shoving it across the desk. Then she grabbed her phone, typing furiously, starting a group chat with the other members of her poetry club. They would fight back. They would write poems, make posters, and organize readings to show that her university still had a soul.

She wouldn’t allow the administrators to strip the school of the creative spirit that had drawn her to this place. She had to do something, anything. The fight coursed through her, an undeniable energy. The fight was the only thing that felt right.