Gemotions

The essay lay on Maya’s desk, a testament to her inertia. Sunlight, normally a welcome presence, streamed through the window, highlighting dust motes dancing in the air. Each one seemed to mock her inactivity. She stared at the words, the words *she* was accused of stealing, and felt a strange disconnect. It was as if she were observing someone else’s downfall.

She pushed her chair back, the squeak of the metal a jarring sound. Her fingers traced the rim of her coffee mug, cold now, the coffee long drunk. A wave of emptiness washed over her, a hollow ache in her chest.

"I just... I don't know," she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper, when questioned by the professor. She had no energy to defend herself, only a vast, silent space within where explanations should have been. The accusation, the potential consequences – they felt distant, unreal.