Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, glowing with an accusatory light. Professor Davies was leaving. She hadn't replied to his last four emails, let alone attended his office hours. Her stomach clenched. A wave of nausea, acrid and unwelcome, washed over her.

She picked at the corner of her desk, the wood splintering under her fingernails. It had been weeks since she’d seen him, weeks since she’d even *thought* about her thesis. Now, the project felt like a lead weight in her chest.

"Just…damn," she whispered, the word lost in the vastness of the empty lab. Empty, like her progress. She pulled the half-finished draft from her drawer, the pages stained with coffee and neglect.