Gemotions

"So, you understand the situation?" The professor’s voice was too kind, too understanding. Sarah stared down at her hands, twisting the edge of her worn notebook. Yes, she understood. The scholarship, her salvation, had been mistakenly awarded to her.

She mumbled a reply, her throat constricted. Shame crawled up her neck, prickling her skin. The professor’s office, usually a haven, felt like a pressure cooker. She couldn't meet his gaze, focusing on the chipped paint on the window frame.

Outside, the late afternoon sun felt harsh against her face. Each step felt heavy. The campus walkways, previously a source of joy, now seemed to twist and turn, leading to nowhere. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, a reminder of the emails she'd need to compose, the explanations she'd have to give.