Gemotions

The email arrived at 3:17 PM, a stark white rectangle against the perpetual grey of her laptop screen. Professor Davies was departing. His replacement, they said, would be announced in the coming months. A tremor ran through Amelia, a silent earthquake in her chest. She reread the words, the casual language of institutional bureaucracy, and felt a coldness creep into her fingers. She slammed her laptop shut, the sound echoing unnaturally loud in her small, cluttered apartment. She stood, pacing the worn rug, the threads snagging on her worn slippers. Outside, the rain hammered against the windows, a relentless rhythm mirroring the pounding in her head.