Gemotions

The ramen tasted like cardboard, as usual. Sarah pushed the bowl away, the steam doing little to warm her. She stared at the ceiling, tracing the cracks with her eyes, a familiar, pointless pastime. Sunlight slanted through the blinds, painting stripes across her unmade bed. She hadn’t bothered to get up, even though the lecture on Kant was probably already underway.

A sudden, sharp sting in her chest. She hadn't eaten properly in days.

Later that afternoon, she found her journal, lying open on her desk. A pang of nausea washed over her. Her roommate, Emily, was humming in the kitchen, making tea. Sarah knew. She just knew. The private, messy landscape of her words, laid bare. She closed the cover, her fingers trembling, and retreated to the bathroom, locking the door. The reflection stared back at her, a stranger with dull eyes and a slumped posture.