Gemotions

He stared at the email, the words blurring before his eyes. Accusation. Plagiarism. The words seemed to jump off the screen and claw at him. Michael ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he’d developed in the past few days. His shoulders slumped, his posture mirroring the curve of the cheap desk in his dorm. The vibrant posters he’d taped up, meant to inspire him, now felt like mocking reminders of his past aspirations.

His appetite had vanished. He picked at his food, pushing it around his plate. Every bite felt like a betrayal of the effort he’d poured into his research, or so he thought. The library, once his sanctuary, now seemed hostile, the stacks of books watching him with silent judgment. The air in his lungs felt thin, as if he was struggling to breathe.