Gemotions

The coffee shop buzzed, a cheerful contrast to the turmoil brewing within Marco. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his gaze fixed on the university’s dean, his own voice low and deliberate. He'd gone over his application a hundred times and knew every detail. He described the error, calmly, meticulously, as if reconstructing a crime scene. His hands, usually expressive, were now still, placed squarely on the table. Each word was a weapon, aimed to dismantle any flimsy excuse. Afterwards, he walked away, a sense of tension in his shoulders that didn't abate for hours.