Gemotions

The red "C-" glared back at Maya from the stark white of the paper. She crumpled it, the edges biting into her palms. Professor Davies. Always Davies. He’d clearly marked her essay down to make her feel bad. She knew she had a strong understanding of the material. She spent hours researching, writing, revising. Now, she felt a cold fury simmering in her chest.

She marched to his office, the walk taking on a rhythmic pace of frustration. She'd get him to change it, she decided. The air in his office was stale, filled with the scent of old books and something else—a hint of something almost floral. She cleared her throat. “Professor, could we discuss the grade on my essay?”

His gaze was calm, almost too calm. He pointed to a chair. Maya sat, her legs feeling like lead. She would make him regret this.