Leila
The examination room hummed with a silence so thick, you could've heard a pin drop.
I sat rigid in my chair, the wood cool through the thin fabric of my skirt, and stared at the clock above the blackboard. Its second hand creaked forward, a metronome for our collective dread. Everyone here knew what this meant. The Royal Financial Institute wasn't just a school; it was a slingshot. Get in, and your life stopped being a slow crawl through mud. Get in, and you got to fly.
I'd spent months memorizing formulas, poring over case studies until my eyes burned, all to stand a chance. But now, as the invigilator pressed a test paper into my hands, my fingers froze. This wasn't just hard—it was impossible. Questions about high-frequency trading algorithms that made my graduate-level cours
