Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the professor's office buzzed, a sound that seemed to bore into Elias' skull. He slumped in the hard plastic chair, hands clasped, knuckles white. The accusations hung heavy in the air, a thick, suffocating fog. He rubbed his temples, the pressure building behind his eyes. He just wanted to go home, to collapse onto his bed and forget the mountain of research papers, the late-night study sessions, the crushing pressure of deadlines that had been his life for the past year.

"I don't understand," he rasped, his voice barely audible. The professor, a woman with kind eyes that now seemed laced with disappointment, simply pointed to the side-by-side comparison of his paper and the online article. He felt a sudden, sharp pain in his chest, a physical manifestation of the exhaustion that had been eating away at him. He hadn't slept properly in days.

He felt the accusation like a physical blow. He'd poured every ounce of himself into this, sacrificing his social life, his health, everything. Now, this. He thought of the weeks he’d spent in the library, fuelled by lukewarm coffee and sheer desperation.