The email sat in Amelia’s inbox, a digital papercut that stung even through the screen. A mistake. That’s what they called it. The scholarship, the one that paid for her dorm and her books, wasn’t hers. It belonged to a girl named Sarah, who, according to the university’s grovelling apology, “had a more pressing need.” Amelia slammed her laptop shut. The audacity. She’d spent weeks agonizing over the application, crafting a perfect essay, polishing her grades. Now, all that effort was for… what? She dug her nails into her palms, a burning pressure building behind her eyes.
She stormed down to the financial aid office, the tile floor cold beneath her feet. The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with a perpetually apologetic smile, offered her a calming tea. Amelia brushed past her. Inside, the director, a man with a receding hairline and a nervous habit of smoothing his tie, rattled off explanations. A clerical error. A reassessment. Amelia tuned him out, her jaw clenched. She knew she deserved this. She had to.
“So, what happens now?” she finally asked, her voice tight. The director stuttered, suggesting a smaller, less desirable grant. Amelia simply shook her head and walked out. She wasn't going anywhere.