Gemotions

The office felt cramped, the air thick with the unspoken. Professor Miller, with his neatly pressed shirt and carefully sculpted beard, looked at me over his spectacles with a grim expression. He seemed to relish the power this situation gave him.

"Mr. Evans," he began, his voice measured and precise, "it appears you've… borrowed heavily from another student's work." I shifted in my seat, the hard plastic digging into my thighs. This was laughable. Borrowed? We all used the same resources.

A muscle in my jaw clenched. The student he was referring to was a mediocre writer, incapable of the complexities in my own work. I decided to remain silent, let him stew in the awkwardness, then I’d get it over with and leave.