Gemotions

"So, what do you think?" Professor Thompson had asked, his voice jovial. The words hung in the air, a cruel parody of the usual optimism. I stared at him, my mouth suddenly dry. My thesis was already a mess, and now this.

I forced a smile, hoping it hid the way my chest was constricting. The room, usually bright and airy, seemed to dim around me. The sunlight streaming through the window now felt oppressive.

I cleared my throat, the sound rough and foreign. "It's... unexpected," I managed, my voice barely a whisper. I focused on the intricate pattern of the carpet, anything to avoid his gaze, which felt piercing and judgmental.