Gemotions

Liam drummed his fingers on the worn wooden table of the coffee shop, the rhythmic tapping a frantic counterpoint to the quiet murmur of conversations around him. He'd been expecting the usual Tuesday morning routine – reading through emails, tackling some freelance work. Instead, his entire application essay was staring at him from a college admissions blog. He recognized the specific turns of phrase, the deeply personal anecdotes.

He leaned back, his chair creaking ominously. He rubbed his eyes, thinking he might be hallucinating. The words, once so intimately his own, now felt foreign, exposed. A cold sweat prickled his skin. He felt a need to explain, to justify, to somehow reclaim what was now public property.

He picked up his phone and quickly scrolled through his contacts, his thumb hovering over the number of the professor who had advised him. He hesitated, then slammed the phone down onto the table. The barista called out his drink, but he couldn't bring himself to move. The essay remained, an undeniable testament to something he couldn't quite grasp.