Gemotions

The email arrived mid-lecture, a stark white rectangle in the midst of Professor Davies' droning on about the socio-economic impacts of the Renaissance. Clara’s heart thumped a frantic rhythm as she read the subject line: “Scholarship Clarification.” A coldness prickled her skin.

She excused herself to the restroom, fiddling with the tap until the cold water ran. The missive stated, with clinical precision, that the funds had been incorrectly allocated. A clerical error. The scholarship, the lifeline that kept her at university, was not, in fact, hers. A wave of nausea rolled over her. She gripped the cool porcelain of the sink, the room beginning to tilt. The words swam before her eyes.

Back in the lecture hall, the professor's voice seemed far away. She couldn't focus, the words bouncing uselessly off the walls of her mind. She felt a heat rising in her chest, flooding her face. She avoided eye contact with anyone, including the overly friendly girl in the front row. The shame felt like a physical weight, pressing her into her seat.