Gemotions

He stared at the page, the words blurring slightly. The afternoon sun bathed his room in a golden light. His research felt like a well-oiled machine, each step leading logically to the next. The routine, the structure, gave him a sense of purpose. His advisor, Dr. Moreau, was an excellent mentor.

A frantic tap at the door. It was his roommate. “Did you see the email?” he asked, breathless. "Moreau’s leaving! Next semester! I can't believe it." The room spun. The carefully constructed foundations of his work seemed suddenly brittle, like something made of glass.