Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the professor's office seemed to buzz louder than usual, drilling into Maya’s skull. She stared at the worn, floral wallpaper, acutely aware of the dust motes dancing in the sunbeam slicing across the room. Her cheeks burned, and she kept tugging at the collar of her sweater, as if it were suddenly constricting her. The professor was saying something about sources, about academic integrity, but the words were a muddle, a meaningless drone. All she could hear was the frantic hammering of her own heart.

A coldness settled in her stomach, a dense, heavy feeling. She couldn’t meet the professor’s gaze, focusing instead on a tiny crack in the wooden desk. Shame, a deep, pervasive color, washed over her. She gripped her hands so tightly that her knuckles were white.

"Do you have anything to say, Maya?" the professor asked, her voice laced with a gentle disappointment. Maya swallowed, the dryness in her throat making speech a physical struggle. She shook her head, unable to find any words.