Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it further, as if trying to physically erase the number glaring at him from the screen. "62%?" Mark muttered under his breath, the question laced with disbelief. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the frantic thoughts swirling in his head. This was his dream school, and this grade… this was a disaster.

He slammed his laptop shut, the metallic clang a sharp punctuation to his mounting frustration. The small dorm room felt suddenly suffocating. Every object in the room – the unmade bed, the scattered textbooks, the overflowing laundry basket – seemed to mock him.

He got up and began pacing, his steps erratic and agitated. He paused at the window, staring out at the campus. The vibrant scene outside offered no solace. The anxiety constricted his chest; it was difficult to breathe properly.