Gemotions

"I don't understand," Amelia whispered, her voice barely audible. The advisor across the desk offered a sympathetic look, but the words still rang in her ears, each syllable a hammer blow. The crisp autumn air outside, usually invigorating, suddenly felt suffocating. She couldn't focus; it was like the world was spinning. Her meticulously organized planner, usually a source of comfort, lay open on the desk, the carefully scheduled weeks and months now meaningless. She felt an overwhelming urge to run, to escape this room, this conversation, this reality.