Gemotions

The late afternoon sun warmed Maya’s face as she leaned back in her chair, a half-finished mug of chamomile tea cooling on the windowsill. Her fingers, still slightly sticky from the honey she'd added, tapped a gentle rhythm on the wooden armrest. She’d spent the day wandering through the park, sketching the shadows of the ancient oak trees. She felt… at peace. The email notification, a sharp ping that sliced through the quiet, made her jump. It was her history grade. She clicked, a small smile playing on her lips, ready to bask in the satisfaction of a well-deserved A.

Her breath hitched. A C+. Her stomach twisted. The gentle warmth drained from her face, replaced by a cold, prickly sensation. She blinked, rereading the grade. Surely, it was a mistake. Her heart began to pound a frantic tattoo against her ribs.