Gemotions

His voice, normally so jovial, sounded distant and hollow during the impromptu meeting. The words, "taking a position at Stanford," hung in the air like a noxious cloud. Sarah felt her face flush, the heat spreading from her neck to her hairline. She could barely meet his eyes. The room swam, the walls seeming to tilt.

He spoke about opportunities, about how it would be good for her, about making sure she landed on her feet. All the platitudes were nauseating. She nodded, offering clipped responses, trying to appear composed. Her palms were slick with sweat. He was gone, a phantom. Her carefully constructed academic future was suddenly a house of cards, ready to collapse with a gentle breeze.

She walked out of his office with a robotic gait. Outside, the bright sunshine felt like a personal insult. She wanted to disappear, to sink into the cracks in the pavement.