Gemotions

Clara tapped her foot incessantly beneath the worn wooden table in the Dean’s office. The air smelled of stale coffee and bureaucratic dust. Across from her, the Dean droned on about academic integrity, his voice a monotonous rumble. Clara’s shoulders were hunched, her gaze darting between the Dean and the document in front of her.

The Dean pointed to a paragraph that apparently mirrored a website’s wording too closely. She frowned, a crease forming between her eyebrows. A cold knot twisted in her gut. She remembered the late nights spent frantically researching. She remembered, specifically, reading that very article. The thought that she’d unconsciously plagiarized something... it just didn't sit right with her.

She attempted to articulate her position but felt a sudden resistance. The accusations seemed unfounded. She wanted to believe in the system but it felt like a trap, and she felt like a mouse caught in one. She cleared her throat. “Can I see the original file, please?” she asked.