Gemotions

The familiar scent of old books and coffee in the campus bookstore now felt tainted. Michael, a senior, leaned against a shelf, staring at the books he would never read again. He felt a deep ache in his chest, a sense of loss that went beyond the academic.

The announcement was a betrayal of the past, of all those times he’d walked these halls and the future he had dreamed for himself. He wanted to blame someone, anyone. The campus felt like a mausoleum.

His hand reached out, brushing against a copy of "The Odyssey," a book he’d been planning to read. He abruptly turned and walked out of the store, the weight of the news pressing down on him.