Gemotions

"Mr. Henderson, we need to speak." The Dean's words echoed in Leo's ears. He felt a tightness in his chest, making it difficult to draw breath. The office air, usually sterile, felt thick, suffocating. He focused on the details of the Dean's desk. The precise arrangement of the pens, the immaculate blotter, the way the light caught the dust motes floating in the air. Anything to avoid the words that were coming.

The Dean’s face was unreadable, his tone professional, but the information it conveyed was a hammer blow. It was a mistake. A blunder. The scholarship was assigned wrongly.

He tried to keep his voice steady, but it wavered. "What does that mean?" he asked, already knowing. His world felt like it was shrinking, the walls of the room closing in. The vibrant colors of the office had faded.

He tried to argue, to plead, but the words felt like they were getting stuck in his throat. He could see his dreams shattering before his eyes, reduced to shards of glass on the polished floor.