The unrequited love

(Annah) This is awful. i never imagined i would sit again in a institute to review high school s**t again. if you are confused then yes, i'm Annah jackson 17 year old preparing for medical entrance(in our country entrance is like premed).if only i had focused solely on my studies in highschool i would never have been struggling like this(applause goes to my highschool shitty friends i mean ex-friends)... there are things you should never do while being a straight A student, yes you heard right i was once a straight A student until highschool where i met 4 of my friends. ishouldn't have skipped classes with them, i shouldn't have chased a boy who is an asshole, i shouldnt have did all those crazy things. to be honest i enjoyed though.. i wont regret them, but i will regret that i allowed myself to do crazy s**t with them.. because being a stem girl is not that easy. i took bio-math stream which includes biology, chemistry, physics, mathematics, english, native language. i would deal well with biology and chemistry even with physics because these subjects are important for medical entrance but my lord, mathematics who invented that though, why would i want to be knowing calculus ,differential calculus, probability, etc... not gonna lie.. math made me cry more than men ever did. if i had a dollar for every time someone told me, “these two years decide your whole life,” i’d probably still be broke, because no one actually says that out loud. they just stare at you with that expression—the one that says oh poor kid, welcome to the mess. i hate that look. it’s like they already know you’re going to fail at something, and they're just waiting for the disaster. i sit in the third row from the front—neither too eager nor invisible. my coaching institute smells like old books and crushed dreams. the guy in front of me keeps shaking his leg like he’s doing Morse code with his knee, and the girl next to me highlights everything in pink—even the headings that already come printed in pink. i want to ask her if she’s okay. or maybe just lend her a yellow highlighter. balance, girl. anyway, today’s physics class was on kinematics. sir explained it like we were all miniature Einsteins. he talked about vectors and scalars as if they were people we had to marry. “if you don't understand this,” he said, tapping the board like it had committed a crime, “you will not survive NEET.” no pressure, right? during lunch break, i sit on the stairs near the corridor window, trying to convince myself that this is just a phase. like puberty. like acne. like that one-sided crush on a boy who didn’t even know i existed back in grade ten. speaking of boys, here comes the part i wasn’t ready to admit—there’s someone in this very building who makes my insides feel like someone shook a snow globe and left me standing in the mess. his name is shaheer. he’s not even supposed to be here. he’s a guest lecturer, some newly graduated mbbs dude who comes to help us with human physiology and sometimes drops these random pearls of wisdom like “you are not your scores” and “sleep is part of your preparation.” ugh, don’t be so perfect. he has this calm, effortless confidence, and the kind of smile that makes girls around him forget their pH values. he speaks like he's seen the world, but still chooses to stay humble. once, i saw him quietly helping a girl who cried after a mock test. he didn’t say much—just sat beside her, let her talk, and offered her a paper towel like it was a medal. i remember thinking, why can’t boys in my batch be like that? but here’s the thing. shaheer probably sees me as just another nerd in a class of hundred. i doubt he even knows my name. and that’s okay. i mean, not really, but i’ll survive. this isn’t a love story. at least, not the kind that ends in fairy tales. this is real life, where love is inconvenient and dreams are heavier than hearts. i open my biology book and stare at the chapter on human reproduction. the irony isn’t lost on me. i flip the page with a sigh, and just like that, i remind myself: annah jackson, focus. hearts break. neurons fire. keep going. the bell rings for the next class, but i stay seated by the window a little longer. outside, the sun has started softening, making everything look golden and slow, like the world’s pretending to be peaceful. it’s such a lie. inside me, everything’s still loud and restless. i finally drag myself back into class. it’s physiology again, and of course, shaheer walks in. i don’t even mean to look at him, but my eyes betray me like they always do. he’s wearing a plain white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, stethoscope casually looped around his neck like it's no big deal. he starts the session by asking, “who here actually enjoys studying this subject?” a few brave souls raise their hands. i pretend to look through my notes, hoping he doesn’t catch my eyes. but then— “annah, right?” my heart skips. i nod. “you seem like the type who likes understanding, not just memorizing. want to explain the cardiac cycle to the class?” what. the. hell. my mind blanks. words scatter. but i stand up, and somehow, my voice comes out steady. maybe it’s the beginning of something—or maybe just a cruel moment i’ll replay forever.