Gemotions

It was the quiet that got to Elias. Not the silence, but the way the professor's office was unnaturally still, hushed. He could hear his own pulse hammering in his ears, a frantic rhythm that mirrored the turmoil inside him.

He felt strangely disconnected from his body, as if he were an observer watching a puppet. He tried to think, but his thoughts were fragmented, scattered. He felt as though he was moving through molasses.

He gripped the edge of the desk, the polished wood cool beneath his fingers. He needed something to hold onto, something to ground him in the swirling chaos. The room seemed to stretch and distort.