The clock above the whiteboard ticked with merciless precision, each second dragging slower than the last.
Raya blinked at her notes, then blinked again. The words on the page had long stopped registering. Her pen hovered uselessly, a half-finished sentence dangling in the middle of a page that smelled faintly of highlighter ink and desperation.
A week had passed in a blur of late-night cramming, back-to-back submissions, and caffeine-fueled anxiety spirals. The aftermath of Tessa’s laptop incident faded into the background, replaced by the cruel immediacy of assignment deadlines and terrifying pop quizzes.
Now, seated in their usual middle-row bench in the literature lecture hall, Raya slumped between Tessa and Hana, eyes glazed over as Professor Mairson went on about postmodern narrat
