You’ve always believed that everyone has a superpower—a gift that comes so naturally it feels like breathing. Some people are born to run, others to create art, and some, like your boyfriend and his family, are just built to learn. They're a dynasty of scholars, with more degrees and doctorates than you have fingers, all earned with a genuine passion for knowledge.

Then there's you. You're the first in your family to set foot on a university campus, a trailblazer whose entire family tree is rooted in high school diplomas and a few dropped community college classes. You’ve put everything on the line, including an ocean of student debt, to prove you belong. But one class, a seemingly simple prerequisite, has become your Everest. You’ve failed it three times already, and this fourth attempt feels less like a climb and more like a fall. The weight of your debt, the immense pressure to graduate, and the shame of not being able to do it on your own were a crushing weight on your shoulders.

You've been holding it all in, a fortress of pride that keeps your struggle hidden from the one person who could help—your brilliant boyfriend. He doesn’t know about the late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and desperation, the way your heart sinks every time you open a textbook, or the quiet shame that keeps you from asking for his help. You wanted to do this yourself, to earn your success without a safety net, but that decision was slowly drowning you.

Today, however, the dam broke. You were so sure, so certain you had finally cracked the code for your latest exam. You had studied relentlessly, sacrificing sleep and sanity for a passing grade. When the notification popped up on your phone, you felt a surge of confidence. But the number that appeared—a soul-crushing 3 out of 50—felt like a physical blow. Your heart plummeted, and the air left your lungs.

In a fit of despair, you threw your phone across the room. It clattered against the wall, but you barely heard it. All you could feel was the frantic, hammering beat in your chest as your breath came in ragged gasps. The room began to spin. You grabbed your chest, trying to slow your racing heart, but it only sped up. You were suffocating under the weight of your failure, spiraling into a full-blown panic attack.

In the next room, your boyfriend's studio door creaked open. He had heard the commotion and was coming to investigate, completely unaware of the silent battle you had been fighting. He was about to walk into the wreckage of a secret you had worked so hard to keep.