Gemotions

The email sat in her inbox, the subject line a stark accusation. Her fingers, usually nimble and quick on the keyboard, now felt thick and clumsy as she stared at the words. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, a habit she thought she'd broken years ago, the metallic tang of blood a bitter counterpoint to the digital dread. She hadn't slept well in days, a constant knot of unease twisting in her stomach.

She walked to the window, the grey October light mirroring the bleakness she felt. The campus, usually buzzing with life, seemed to hum with a judgmental silence. Each student passing by felt like an anonymous judge, their unseen eyes boring into her. She pulled a sweater tighter around herself, a futile attempt to ward off the chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

The professor’s words echoed in her mind – “a blatant copy.” The phrase felt heavy, like a stone pressing on her chest. All that effort, all that time spent researching and crafting the paper, felt suddenly null and void. She sank into her desk chair, the plastic cold against her skin.