Gemotions

The accusation hung in the stale air of the professor's office, thick and suffocating. Amelia's hands clenched into fists, nails digging crescents into her palms. The words, *plagiarism*, *unoriginal*, *disciplinary action*, echoed in her skull, a relentless drumbeat. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to dismantle the polished mahogany desk. Instead, she took a shaky breath, forcing herself to meet the professor’s gaze, her jaw tight. The injustice of it all - the countless hours spent researching, writing, and rewriting – a mockery.

The professor, oblivious, droned on about sources and citations. Amelia felt a heat bloom in her chest, radiating outwards. The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in. She wanted to bolt, to escape the suffocating weight of the accusation. She muttered a curt, "I understand," and, without another word, spun on her heel and stormed out, the door slamming shut behind her with a resounding *BANG*.