Gemotions

The acceptance letter had been her everything. Now, in the cramped university music room, Amelia stared at the rejection email on her laptop screen. The words – “Thank you for your application… we regret to inform you…” – seemed to pulsate, branding themselves into her memory.

She felt a physical ache, a tight knot in her stomach that refused to loosen. The keys on the piano, usually a source of comfort, now seemed alien, mocking her with their pristine white and black surfaces.

She leaned forward, burying her face in her arms, the scent of old wood and dust a poor substitute for the validation she'd desperately craved. The silence in the room was deafening.