Gemotions

He paced the cramped dorm room, the worn rug a familiar landscape under his anxious strides. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the air conditioning. The email, with its curt subject line and accusatory tone, was burned into his memory. "Unoriginal work," it had stated, the words echoing in his mind.

A tremor ran through him. He reached for the coffee cup on his desk, the ceramic cold against his shaking hand. His professor’s words had a way of cutting deep, like a blade. He’d poured his heart into this paper, spending sleepless nights and fueled by black coffee.

He began, without any conscious thought, to gather his notes. Every research article, every quote, every thought. He was suddenly aware of the need to be fully prepared and ready to show all he had done. He would dissect his work, word by word, until the truth was undeniably clear.