Gemotions

He glared at the email notification, his knuckles white against the desk. Accusation. A single word that managed to curdle his blood. It was his work. He’d toiled over it for days, fueled by coffee and a burning desire to prove himself.

A hot flush crept up his neck. He wanted to scream, to smash something. Instead, he typed a curt reply, a single sentence demanding a meeting to “discuss this matter.”

He found himself pacing the hallway outside the dean's office, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The air felt thick, suffocating. He wouldn’t apologize. He wouldn’t admit fault. They were wrong.