The corridor outside the academic counselling office felt unusually loud.
Laughter echoed down the hallway — students celebrating results, relief spilling into conversations, footsteps light with success. A notification buzzed again on her phone.
Inaaya didn't check it. She already knew what it would say.
Failed.
The word still felt unreal, like it belonged to someone else's life.
She stared at the tiled floor instead, tracing invisible lines with her eyes. Just a few marks lower. Just one subject. But in medicine, failure carried weight far heavier than numbers.
Fourth-year students were not supposed to fail.
Not people who *knew better*.
A deep breath filled her lungs before leaving slowly. She wasn't shocked by the result — not really. Somewhere inside, she had seen it coming. Weeks of distracted studying, unfinished schedules, promises to "start properly tomorrow."
Tomorrow had simply run out.
The office door opened.
"Come in."
Her legs felt heavier than usual as she stepped inside.
Mr. Kareem, the academic counsellor, sat behind his desk, glasses resting low on his nose as he reviewed her file. The room smelled faintly of paper and coffee — familiar, academic, suffocating.
"Good morning, Inaaya," he said softly, but there was a tension in the air that made her chest tighten.
"Good morning, sir," she replied, her voice smaller than intended.
He gestured for her to sit. "Take a seat. Let's talk."
For a moment, he simply looked at her — not harshly, but carefully.
"Tell me," he began, leaning back slightly, "how do *you* think this happened?"
Inaaya's throat went dry. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
"I… I don't know," she admitted. "I studied… I just… didn't focus properly, I guess."
Mr. Kareem remained silent, his gaze steady. The pause made her stomach twist.
"I kept thinking I had time," she added quickly. "And then suddenly exams were there… I thought I understood the material."
The silence stretched. No accusation. No pity. Just observation.
He nodded slowly. "Your clinical evaluations are good. Your concepts aren't weak. But medicine isn't forgiving of inconsistency."
Each word landed precisely where it was meant to — unavoidable.
Her gaze dropped. Shame pressed heavily against her ribs.
He leaned forward slightly. "The university has strengthened its peer tutoring program this year. Students who struggle academically will be paired with senior mentors."
Her stomach lurched.
Paired.
Mentored.
Before she could respond, a knock sounded on the door.
"Come in."
And her thoughts shattered completely.
Ayaan Malik stepped inside.
Tall, composed, every movement precise. Final-year student. Top of the batch. Known across the university — admired, almost untouchable.
Her former crush.
For a second, panic replaced oxygen.
Not him. Anyone but him.
He greeted Mr. Kareem politely. "You asked to see me, sir?"
"Yes," the counsellor said, gesturing toward Inaaya. "This is your assigned peer tutoring student."
The world narrowed to the sound of her own heartbeat.
His gaze shifted toward her. Recognition flickered — brief, almost imperceptible — before his expression returned to neutral professionalism.
No curiosity. No surprise.
Just acknowledgment.
Mr. Kareem continued outlining the tutoring program — weekly sessions, progress reports, and structured meetings — but Inaaya could barely focus.
Outside the office, the hallway felt colder than ever.
Students passed, greeting Ayaan cheerfully. He responded politely, yet without warmth, as if the world revolved somewhere else entirely.
Finally, he turned toward her, checking his watch.
"My schedule is tight," he said plainly. "Final-year rotations and applications take priority. We'll meet twice a week. I'll send available slots — pick from those. Sessions are mandatory. Preparation is expected."
Not *asking*. Not *offering*.
Just… instructions.
Inaaya's throat felt dry. "O-okay," she managed to whisper.
He nodded once, then turned, already walking toward the stairwell where another student called his name. Detached, unbothered, completely absorbed in the world beyond her.
She remained frozen, heart hammering.
Assigned to him.
The person she had admired quietly from afar.
The person surrounded by people brighter, smarter, more confident than she had ever felt.
Why would someone like him care about tutoring someone like her?
The answer came immediately: he wouldn't.
He just had to.
Her chest tightened, panic rising in waves. Doubt clawed at her thoughts:
* Everyone would know she failed.
* Professors would look at her differently.
* She didn't belong here at all.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to move.
This was only tutoring.
Nothing personal.
Definitely nothing she should hope for.