Gemotions

The letter sat on her desk, a venomous serpent. The scholarship was a mistake, an administrative error. For a moment, she was merely angry, her financial anxieties screaming. And then the reason for her sudden anger became clear. The money didn't matter. Not nearly as much as the way she felt about the tall, dark-haired student in her writing workshop.

She found herself making excuses to talk to him, offering extra help, praising his work. Her own writing suffered, consumed as she was by a different kind of obsession. She knew she was being unprofessional, but she couldn't stop. Her hands trembled whenever he was near.

The truth was, this wasn't about the money. This was about the way her pulse quickened every time his eyes met hers.