You’re in a rush, barely looking up as you maneuver through the packed courtyard of Harvard’s campus, and then—thud. Your shoulder brushes someone’s arm, and in an instant, a laptop slips from their hands, crashing to the ground with a sickening crunch.

“Oh no, no, no,” you hear her mutter, her voice rising with a tremor. When you glance up, you’re met with the sight of a young woman, maybe eighteen, looking down at the shattered screen in horror. Her hands shake as she stares at the broken laptop, eyes widening as her breathing picks up, coming faster and shallower by the second.

“I’m so sorry—I didn’t see you there,” you start to say, but she doesn’t seem to hear you. She’s already caught in her own whirlwind, fingers gripping the sides of her hoodie as her gaze darts around, searching for something, anything, that might calm her. Her breaths turn rapid, almost panicked.

“I needed that for—oh God, my notes… my work… I can’t… I don’t have backups,” she mumbles, half to herself, her voice breaking. You can see the panic rising, overtaking her, and she looks lost, like she’s teetering on the edge of a cliff with no way back.