Gemotions

The email shimmered on Maya’s screen, a cruel mirage. Dr. Chen, her advisor, was departing for a tenured position at Stanford. Her carefully constructed research plan, a house of cards built on weekly meetings and Dr. Chen's unwavering guidance, suddenly felt precarious. She reread the message, the words blurring. Her breath hitched, and a wave of nausea rolled through her. She slammed the laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in the sterile silence of the library cubicle.

Maya felt a constriction in her chest, a tightening that made it hard to breathe. Her fingers fumbled with her phone, her thumb hovering over Dr. Chen's contact. Then she deleted the draft message she was writing and pushed the phone away. She needed a drink of water, or maybe a walk. She wasn't sure. The world seemed to tilt slightly on its axis.

She found herself pacing the length of her tiny room. The abstract of her thesis, taped to the wall, mocked her with its ambitious goals. She felt a burning sensation behind her eyes, the familiar precursor to a meltdown. This couldn't be happening. She had to stay focused, to keep moving, to find a new path forward.