Gemotions

The words blurred before Sarah's eyes. Professor Anya Petrova, her mentor, was retiring. *Farewell and Best Wishes.* The words seemed to jump off the screen and mock her. She felt a tightening in her chest, a subtle but insistent pressure. The temperature in the office suddenly felt oppressive.

She swiveled in her chair, staring at the empty whiteboard, the blank canvas of her unfinished research. She pulled at the collar of her shirt, as if to loosen something that felt trapped. Her fingers traced the lines of her desk, her gaze distant and unfocused.

The afternoon sun, usually a source of warmth, felt cold against her skin. The thought of starting again, of finding a new guide, filled her with a profound sense of exhaustion.