The morning sun spilled weakly through the classroom windows, but to Rita, it felt like no light could reach inside her today.
She sat at her desk, heart pounding against her ribs, as the invigilator shuffled into the hall with a stack of papers. The scent of ink and chalk dust hung heavy in the air.
Whispers floated through the room — nervous prayers, last-minute mutters of dates and definitions.
Anne sat three rows ahead of her. Evelyn was across the room, closer to the windows.
Neither of them looked her way.
Focus, Rita, she told herself fiercely. This isn't about them. You need to pass. You need to prove you can handle this.
When the papers were finally dropped in front of them, Rita's hands shook slightly.
She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and turned the first page.
The questions stared back at her, black and sharp. English Language — essay, comprehension, summary.
Things she usually loved.
Today, the words looked like strangers.
For a few terrible minutes, Rita just sat there, frozen.
The room was filled with the sound of pens scratching, chairs creaking, papers rustling — and her own wild heartbeat.
You can do this, she whispered to herself.
Slowly, carefully, she picked up her pen.
The essay question was about "A Day That Changed My Life."
Rita stared at it, her mind spinning.
How could she write about a day that changed her life, when she was living it right now?
When everything — her friendships, her future — felt like it was hanging by a thin thread?
She started writing anyway.
Words poured out — clumsy at first, then smoother. She wrote about facing fear, about losing and regaining courage, about mistakes and forgiveness.
She didn't name Anne or Evelyn, but somehow they were in every line, tucked between every word.
When the invigilator called, "Fifteen minutes more!", Rita was deep into her summary. Her hands moved faster now, more confident. She could feel her mind sharpening, the way it always did when she found her flow.
As the bell finally rang and the papers were collected, Rita leaned back in her seat, exhausted but lighter.
She didn't know if she had written everything perfectly.
She didn't know if Anne or Evelyn had even looked her way during the whole exam.
But she had survived it.
One battle at a time.
And maybe — just maybe — there was still hope to fix what was broken.