Gemotions

The paper lay face down on the desk, the harsh red "C-" mocking him. He’d poured hours into that project, fueled by lukewarm coffee and a stubborn belief in his own brilliance. Now, the weight of the rejection settled in his gut.

He shoved his chair back, the screech of metal on linoleum amplifying the already deafening silence of the library. Outside, the midday sun seemed unnaturally bright, a cruel contrast to the internal gloom that had taken root. He wanted to scream.

His backpack felt heavy, filled with the useless tools of a failure. He trudged toward the exit, his shoulders hunched, the vibrant campus a blur of careless laughter and effortless achievement. He didn't want to see anyone, talk to anyone, or acknowledge the world.