Gemotions

The professor’s voice, calm and measured, sliced through her like a blade. “We found some concerning similarities…” The words hung in the air, a poisonous miasma. Her stomach churned. She felt a cold sweat prickling at her skin.

She shifted in her seat, unable to meet the professor’s eye. The room seemed to tilt slightly. A wave of nausea washed over her. The hours she'd spent crafting the paper, the late nights fueled by coffee and desperation – all for nothing, apparently.

They were discrediting years of work. It was as if they wanted to strip away the foundation she’d built, and leave her with nothing. It was infuriating. She stared at the table, her fingernails digging into the wood. The quiet of the room was oppressive.