Gemotions

The email arrived mid-lecture, a stark white rectangle in the midst of Professor Davies’ passionate discussion of Romantic poetry. Sarah’s breath hitched. She surreptitiously opened it under the cover of her textbook, the words – “Urgent Announcement: College Closure” – immediately seizing her attention. Her stomach performed a clumsy somersault, and she felt a sudden chill, despite the stuffy room. She had to clench her jaw to stop the tremor that threatened to break through.

She stared, unseeing, at the professor, whose words now seemed to bounce off a soundproof wall. Her gaze flickered to the faces of her classmates, oblivious, scribbling notes, and a pang of isolation hit her. She felt a need to flee, to be somewhere, anywhere, other than where she was.

The lecture ended, but Sarah remained rooted to her seat, a statue of dread. She slowly gathered her things, her fingers clumsy and hesitant. The weight of her backpack suddenly felt unbearable. Leaving the classroom, she drifted down the hall, avoiding eye contact with anyone, a silent plea for reprieve etched onto her face.