Gemotions

He stared at the blank page in front of him, the cursor blinking like a taunt. The pressure to succeed, the expectations of his family, the weight of his own ambitions, all felt like a physical burden. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture clumsy and automatic. He was just too tired.

His roommate, Mark, had a habit of “borrowing” things without asking. Now, his journal was missing. It had been sitting on his desk, full of private thoughts, hopes, and fears. He could imagine Mark, the casual eavesdropper, flipping through the pages. The thought made him ache. He didn't want to explain himself or make his pain someone else's entertainment.