Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle tacked to the library door, seemed to thrum with a silent accusation. Sarah stared at it, the words blurring through a sudden film over her eyes. Her stomach clenched. She'd known for months that enrollment was down, that money was tight. She’d even joked with her friends about the “inevitable apocalypse” that would be the college’s closure. Now, the joke felt like a betrayal.

She walked slowly back to her dorm, each step heavy. The campus, usually vibrant with students and activity, felt hushed, expectant. Had she pushed hard enough? Had she recruited enough? The pang, sharp and unexpected, echoed in her chest.

She went to her room, the small space suddenly feeling oppressive, the posters on the wall mocking her optimism of just a few months ago. She kicked off her shoes, the sound echoing unnaturally. Her roommate, Mia, found her, but Sarah couldn’t meet her gaze. Mia's attempts at comfort only made the tightness in her throat worse.