Gemotions

The library felt colder than usual, the air conditioning blasting a frigid gale. Maria pretended to be absorbed in her research, the printouts of her dissertation scattered on the table before her, but her mind was elsewhere. She found herself scrolling through Professor Thorne's website, staring at the faculty page which would soon need to be updated. A new, bigger photograph, a biography highlighting his latest publications, the prestigious fellowships he had won, were all likely already being prepared, she thought bitterly.

She had spent months hunched over her work, trying to emulate his brilliance, yearning to achieve his level of recognition. He, on the other hand, was heading to a university where the resources were unlimited, and the pressure to publish felt lighter. She imagined him at a poolside reception, surrounded by colleagues who would now, inexplicably, view her as an ‘old friend’ or even a ‘former student’ in a condescending sort of way. A hot flush crept up her neck.

She closed the laptop, unable to bear the sight any longer.