Dawn broke quietly today, though I barely noticed. The air was still heavy with sleep when my grandmother’s voice stirred me from my dreams—soft yet certain, like a bell calling me back to reality. It was barely six, and I was supposed to prepare for my 7 a.m. class. A sensible student would’ve started boiling water, brushing teeth, fixing hair. But I, stubborn as ever, whispered to myself, “Just five more minutes.”
And in a blink, those five minutes became fifty. The clock mocked me—6:50 a.m.—as I leapt from bed in pure disbelief. The rush that followed was chaos painted in half-light: hurried footsteps, tangled thoughts, a splash of cold water chasing away the last trace of sleep.
Yet destiny, it seems, had mercy on me. The class was canceled—our teacher, a panelist in a defense, couldn’t make it. The universe conspired to give me a pause, a breath, a slow morning I didn’t deserve but deeply needed.
I changed back into my house clothes, the kind that feel like comfort itself, and sat by the windowless quiet of my room. I opened the PDF our professor sent, annotating its lines with sleepy focus, letting time drip softly until the clock whispered 11 a.m. It was then I dressed once more, ready to face the day ahead.
The ride to campus was long, as always. The road stretched endlessly, and I found myself hoping the driver would take it a little faster. But at least, the skies didn’t cry today. When I arrived, I found my friends in our usual spot—our tiny refuge of laughter and shared anxieties. Together, we reviewed, half-serious, half-hoping our minds would remember more than they forgot.
Hours later, the exam came and went. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. The effort, the sleepless nights, the scribbled notes—they all felt worth it. There were tricky parts, of course, but that’s life: never too easy, never too kind, just enough to make you stronger.
As the sun began to sink, we made our way to the terminal, tired but lighthearted. The city moved around us like a slow dream.
And now, here I am, home and breathing. My heart feels full in that quiet, unexplainable way—grateful for small mercies, for gentle delays, for mornings that almost slip away but somehow, still turn out fine. I can only hope the universe continues to be kind, that my efforts bloom into good scores, and that by semester’s end, I’ll look back and say: It was all worth it.