Gemotions

He’d imagined this moment a thousand times, rehearsed his elated reaction, the joyous phone call to his parents. Now, the rejection email lay open on his phone, the stark words a slap in the face. His carefully constructed plans, the meticulous budgeting, the dreams of Oxford, all dissolving into dust. He crumpled the paper in his fist, his knuckles turning white.

His throat constricted, making it difficult to breathe. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him, forcing him to clutch the edge of his desk for support. The room, usually a sanctuary of books and research, seemed to shrink, the walls closing in. A single, silent tear traced a path down his cheek, the salt stinging his skin.