Gemotions

The coffee cup rattled in Amelia's grip. The meeting hadn't even started, but her heart was already tap-dancing a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Professor Davies, typically punctual, was ten minutes late. Amelia chewed the inside of her cheek, a familiar nervous habit. Her thesis, a sprawling exploration of the socio-economic impacts of 18th-century hat making, felt suddenly flimsy, like a house of cards.

The door swung open, and Davies strode in, his face drawn. He looked older, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a strained politeness. "Amelia, my dear," he said, his voice unusually low.

"Professor?" Amelia’s voice cracked. Her palms were slick with sweat.

Davies sat down, the chair creaking under his weight. "I have something… to tell you."