Gemotions

The ramen tasted like cardboard. Kai stared at the steaming bowl, the usual comfort food suddenly repulsive. His stomach churned. He’d just left the financial aid office, a knot forming in his throat. The advisor had been so apologetic, so…certain. There had been a mix-up, apparently. A clerical error. The scholarship, the one that paid his tuition, was never meant for him.

He slammed his chopsticks down. The fluorescent lights of the campus cafeteria seemed to hum a discordant tune. Outside, the autumn wind whipped fallen leaves into frantic spirals. He had to call his mother. He knew what she would say: "Pull yourself together, Kai. We'll figure it out."

He pushed away from the table, the half-eaten ramen a monument to his sudden confusion. The world tilted slightly as he rose. He needed air.