Gemotions

He was halfway through his shift at the library when he got the call. The voice on the other end, from the financial aid office, was polite but firm. The scholarship had been misapplied. He felt his face drain of color, his knees growing weak.

He finished his shift in a daze, mechanically shelving books. The familiar smell of aged paper and ink, normally a source of comfort, now felt oppressive. The other library workers chatted around him, oblivious to the turmoil inside him.

He walked home, the setting sun casting long, dark shadows. The bustling city street, usually a source of energy, now seemed to press in on him. He felt exposed, as if everyone could see his sudden financial instability. He clutched his backpack to his chest, a small shield against the world.