Gemotions

My stomach churned, not from guilt, but from the sheer inanity of the situation. The accusation hung in the air, a thick, suffocating cloud. My professor, a woman whose entire career seemed to hinge on finding fault, was relishing this. I could practically taste her satisfaction.

I crossed my arms, the gesture a deliberate act of defiance. The room felt stifling, the air thick with unspoken accusations. She was pointing out passages, highlighting phrases, acting as if I had committed some cardinal sin. It was ludicrous. Everyone borrows ideas; it's the foundation of scholarship.

"Mr. Chen," she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness, "do you acknowledge the… parallels?" I met her eyes, a flicker of amusement dancing in mine. Parallels? More like the same bloody source material.