Gemotions

The rejection email sat open on Maya's laptop, the stark white background practically screaming at her. She hadn't moved from her desk chair in two hours, the untouched textbook a testament to her inertia. Her fingers drummed a random, rhythm-less pattern on the worn wood, a nervous tic she hadn't realized she’d picked up. The air in her small room felt thick, heavy, like trying to breathe through a damp cloth. A sigh escaped, a tiny puff of defeat lost in the stillness.

Apathy settled over her like a suffocating blanket. Sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, a tiny, vibrant world she couldn't bring herself to engage with. The vibrant colours of the morning outside seemed to mock her. The thought of getting up, of showering, of eating, of *doing* anything felt exhausting.

"Maybe later," she muttered, the sound barely audible. The weight of the future, once a promise, now felt like an insurmountable obstacle, a mountain she didn't possess the energy to even begin to climb.