Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. I stared at the steaming mug, the familiar aroma doing nothing to soothe the gnawing dread that had seized me. The words, emblazoned on the student union notice board, danced before my eyes. Closed. Permanently.

My hands trembled as I took a shaky sip. I ran my tongue over my teeth, tasting the metallic tang of anxiety. My carefully laid plans, the future I’d painstakingly constructed, felt as fragile as the paper cup in my hand.

I wanted to call home, but the thought of the conversation, the explanations, the disappointment in my parents' voices, was too much. I focused on the swirling patterns in the coffee, trying to find a momentary escape from the turmoil within.