Gemotions

Liam stared at the notice board. The university crest, once a symbol of pride, now seemed to mock him. A thick, red line slashed across the announcement: “Final Semester of Operation.” He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging a few stray strands. His jaw clenched.

He'd spent four years here, building a life. He knew the names of the squirrels in the quad, the best study spots, the exact time the cafe served the special croissants. He'd poured over countless volumes, the libraries now becoming ghost towns. All his plans, his dreams, were now seemingly in jeopardy. He felt lightheaded. The air seemed thin, as if someone had stolen the oxygen from the room.

His phone buzzed. A text from his mom: "How are classes going?" He didn't know what to say.