Gemotions

The email shimmered on the screen, a malicious, dancing pixel. Dr. Anya Sharma, leaving for a position at MIT. A new, higher salary. He wanted to scream, to rip the monitor from the desk and smash it against the wall. His carefully constructed research plan, his meticulously crafted bibliography – all of it crumbled into dust before his eyes. He slammed his fist on the desk, the cheap particleboard protesting with a splintering crack. A wave of nausea, thick and sour, rose in his throat. He had a deadline. He had *her*. And now, nothing.