The hallway smells like metal and old paper—a combination that clings to the walls of universities everywhere, as if stress has a scent and it never leaves.
My shoes echo on the tiles.I hate how loud each step feels, like the world is listening, judging the way I walk, the way I exist.
My heart hasn't calmed since the bus ride.It beats like it's trying to punch its way out of my ribs.Sometimes I wonder if the sound is only in my ears…or if everyone around me can hear it, too.
My classmates stand in little groups, laughing about nothing, exchanging weekend stories, talking about future plans as if the future is a place they're invited to.They talk with ease, with breath, with a confidence I can't imitate.
I force myself to walk past them.I keep my eyes down, the way stray animals do when they're stepping into territories they don't belong in.
A hand pats my shoulder—a classmate.A "friend." Someone I'm supposed to survive four years with.
"Hey, you good? You look tired."
I smile. It's small, automatic, fake.But they accept it—because no one really wants the real answer.People ask "are you okay?" like they're offering a charity they hope you decline.
As we enter the lecture hall, a familiar heaviness spreads through my chest.Desks lined in rows.Lights too bright to feel natural.A professor who speaks as if every sentence is more important than oxygen.
I try to focus.I try to be here.But my mind drifts, pulled by threads of thoughts I never invited.
What if I fail?
One mistake, one missed deadline, one confused moment—and suddenly I'm buried.My parents' words rise like ghosts:
"You can't survive being like this.""You don't try enough.""Other students manage. Why don't you?"
Their voices are louder than the lecturer's.Louder than my own thoughts.Louder than my heartbeat.
My hands start trembling under the desk.I hide them in my sleeves.
I stare at the projector screen, but the words melt into shapes I can't understand.Every sentence feels like a test.Every slide feels like a warning.Every second feels like a countdown.
My chest tightens until breathing feels optional—a choice I'm too weak to commit to.
I whisper to myself, too quietly for anyone to hear.
"Just get through the hour. Just one hour."
But time in classrooms stretches like rubber, thin and fragile.One moment, I'm staring at the clock.The next, I realize ten minutes passed without me noticing—or breathing properly.
I close my eyes for a moment.Just a moment.
And for a second, I'm back in the place in my head—the rain-soaked field.The black sky.The wind.The soft piano playing "Drowning Love."A place where existing doesn't feel like drowning.
But the fantasy dissolves when the professor calls my name.
My body freezes.My blood turns electric.
"Can you answer the question?"
Dozens of eyes turn toward me.Waiting.Expecting.Judging.
My mind is empty—completely white, like a screen that failed to load.
"I… I don't know," I manage to whisper.
A few students exchange glances.Someone laughs quietly.
The professor sighs, disappointed.The lecture moves on without me.
But the humiliation stays.
It spreads through me, slow and poisonous.It crawls beneath my ribs and settles there, whispering:
"See? You don't belong here."
When the class finally ends, everyone rushes out.I move slower, feeling like gravity has singled me out for a personal attack.
Outside, the sky is overcast.Clouds thick enough to swallow the sun.
Good.I like it better when the world matches me.
As I walk toward the cafeteria, I overhear someone say, "I can't wait for the future."The words sting.
I can't see my future.Not the next week.Not the next month.Sometimes not even the next day.
Everything ahead of me feels like fog—cold, shapeless, endless.
And yet, I keep moving.Not because of hope.Not because of strength.
But because standing still hurts just as much as walking.
At the cafeteria, I pause.People inside laugh loudly, talk loudly, exist loudly.
I stay outside.Where it's quieter.Where I can breathe without pretending.
And as I stare at the ground, listening to the low hum of the building, I feel it again—that invisible weight walking beside me.The one that has followed me since childhood.The one that whispers every cruel truth I already believe.
I'm not sure what it is.
Fear.Sadness.Anxiety.Loneliness.
Whatever name it has, it's mine.
I inhale slowly, exhale shakily.
Another day survived.Another battle no one saw.
And somewhere deep inside me, barely a whisper:
"I don't know how many more of these days I can keep doing."