Gemotions

He stared at the grade, a B minus, and his face flushed. It felt like a public failure. He'd poured his heart into that presentation, staying up late to practice, meticulously crafting each slide. The professor’s words, a vague critique about lack of “original thought,” echoed in his ears.

He fumbled with his phone, his hands clumsy as he searched for his mother's number. He almost texted her, “Everything is fine,” but he couldn’t bring himself to hit send. The need to maintain an image, the facade of competence, felt like a heavy armor he was suddenly too exhausted to wear.

He decided to walk, the November chill biting into his exposed skin. He walked until his legs ached, the city lights blurring into an indistinct haze, as if trying to outrun the sting of the grade.