Gemotions

The professor’s office smelled like old books and despair. The words, *insufficient original thought*, *derivative content*, scraped at Liam’s soul. He clenched his teeth, fighting to keep his voice steady. He felt a throbbing ache in his temples, a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil. He was being accused of something he hadn’t done, and the room was a prison.

He wanted to scream, to accuse the professor of a lack of understanding, but he bit back the impulse. Instead, he forced a tight smile and said, "I assure you, there's been a mistake." But as he said it, he could feel a surge of frustration, a cold wave of emotion wash over him, as he turned and abruptly left the room.