Some days passed like that. There was only five days left until the semester exams, my life had narrowed down to the four walls of my room and the towering stacks of notes on my desk. I was pushing my limits, ignoring every warning sign my body tried to send me, convinced that I could just power through and rest after the exams were over.
But my body was no longer willing to cooperate.
What used to start only after five or six hours of intense study now began to creep in after barely an hour or two. A sharp, burning ache would flare up deep in my lower back, steadily growing worse day by day. Desperate to keep it under control, I started applying soothing pain-relief gels to my spine between study sessions. When the cooling creams stopped working, I tried to mentally block it out, convincing myself I could suppress the agony through sheer willpower.
By the morning of the very first exam, the pain had become a persistent, throbbing threat. Anxious about how I was going to sit upright for a grueling three-hour paper, I finally decided to break my silence. Before leaving for the test, I briefly mentioned the ache to my father, being careful not to alarm him too much and took a strong painkiller, hoping it would buy me enough time to get through the paper.
Because it was the first day of finals, my father insisted on walking me out and seeing me off to the exam center, a rare comfort that made my chest feel a little lighter.
Once inside the examination hall, I took my seat and waited for the question papers to be distributed and took the painkiller. To my immense relief, the painkiller kicked in right on schedule. The fiery grip in my spine melted away into a dull numbness, allowing me to sit straight without wincing. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, I opened the booklet and dove into the questions.
Without the distraction of pain, my mind cleared. I worked through the paper smoothly, answering every question to the best of my ability and feeling genuinely proud of how the first exam went. It felt like a massive victory.
However, as the final bell rang and the invigilators collected the papers, the chemical shield began to wear off.
By the time I boarded the crowded train for the ride back home, a familiar, prickly warmth was returning to my lower back. At first, it was just a mild discomfort, but as the train rattled down the tracks, the ache sharpened. By the time I walked through my front door, it had bloomed into a severe, throbbing pain that made every step a challenge.
Exhausted, hurting, and drained from the mental effort of the exam, I quickly ate a light meal, told myself that sleep would fix it, and collapsed onto my bed to rest.
When the evening rolled around, I forced myself back to the desk, though I tried to pace myself this time. Having already completed the bulk of my syllabus, I decided to take it easy, studying only as long as my back permitted. The moment the familiar, dull throb in my spine began to sharpen, I immediately stood up from the chair, stretched carefully, and lay down on my bed to let the muscles relax. After a quiet dinner, I drifted off to sleep, waking up to an unexpected holiday the next day.
That pattern set the rhythm for the rest of the semester. Because our schedule was interspersed with gaps for other courses examinations, my own exam dates were spaced out over a long period. Those gaps meant precious days off at home, which I used to recover and prepare.
For two grueling weeks, the routine repeated like clockwork:
Every time an exam day arrived, I would take a strong painkiller before stepping into the hall, letting the chemical numbness carry me through the three-hour paper. I answered every question to the absolute best of my ability, determined to leave nothing to chance. But the moment the exam ended and I returned home, the painkiller's effect would wear off, leaving my lower back throbbing and my body utterly exhausted.
Yet, when the final exam paper was finally collected on the last day, a profound wave of relief washed over me. Walking out of the college gates for the last time that semester, I had a quiet, satisfied look in my eyes. I had done my best, and despite the physical toll, I had made it through.
With the semester officially over, a long stretch of holiday stretched out ahead. Most students immediately abandoned their books to celebrate and unwind, knowing that results wouldn't be announced for another month and classes wouldn't resume until then. But I knew I couldn't afford to rest for long.
My mind naturally gravitated back to the upcoming stack of course texts. Knowing how unpredictable my body had become and fearing that my back pain might flare up worse than ever in the future. So I decided to get a head start. Working slowly and steadily while I still had good days, I began opening the new textbooks and diving into the next semester's syllabus, determined to stay one step ahead of the storm.