Gemotions

He stared at the rejection letter, the crisp paper a stark contrast to the crumpled stack of bills on his desk. His jaw ached from clenching it, a familiar tightness that had become a constant companion. The overhead light buzzed, a high-pitched whine that grated on his nerves.

He ran a hand through his hair, finding it plastered to his forehead with sweat. Sleep had become a distant memory, replaced by a relentless cycle of studying, working, and the gnawing anxiety of his financial situation. His eyelids felt heavy, as if weighted down.

"Well," he muttered, his voice raspy. "Guess it's ramen for another semester." He picked up the letter again, the edges blurring in his vision. The words seemed to mock him, the polite phrasing a cruel façade.