Gemotions

"I'm sorry, Elara," the advisor had said, her voice soft but the words hard. Elara felt a peculiar heat bloom in her chest, spreading rapidly outward. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. The calm, composed facade she usually presented crumbled.

She excused herself from the office, her legs carrying her out into the bright sunshine. She walked quickly, almost running, the familiar campus paths now seeming unfamiliar, twisted. Everything looked sharp, harsh. She felt a profound sense of injustice, a burning resentment.

She reached the edge of campus, the city sprawling beyond. The noise of traffic, usually a background hum, became a deafening roar. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to break something. She gripped the fence, feeling the metal cold beneath her fingers.