Gemotions

He’d arrived at the meeting early, but his palms were still slick with sweat. He kept running his hands through his already messy hair, a nervous habit he hadn't realized he possessed until now. The heavy oak door of the Dean’s office loomed, a barrier to whatever fate awaited him. His stomach lurched with each tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

The accusations, laid out in the official paperwork, were undeniable. Sections of his final project echoed passages from an online forum. He’d been working so hard, pushing himself to the limit, barely sleeping. The pressure to succeed had been crushing.

He imagined the look on his parents' faces, the disappointment in his advisor's eyes. Would he be expelled? Would everything he'd worked for crumble? His legs felt unsteady, as if the floorboards were shifting beneath him.