Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, a habit he'd adopted when facing a difficult problem. This felt bigger. Professor Davies, his guiding light, the person who had championed his work, was moving on. He’d seen the news on the departmental bulletin board, a small, typed notice pinned amongst announcements for seminars and coffee socials. His breath hitched in his throat.

His fingers itched, wanting to grab something, anything, and tear it apart. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to release the tension that coiled in his gut. The library, normally a refuge, felt suffocating. He shoved his hands in his pockets, wanting to disappear.

He walked past his usual study carrel, the space suddenly feeling foreign and unwelcoming. The weight of his unwritten thesis pressed down on him with the force of a physical burden. He considered going home, maybe just pretending this wasn't happening, but then he knew that was impossible.