The classroom buzzed with a low hum of chatter, pens tapping against desks, and the occasional nervous sigh. You sat in the middle row, your fingers tracing the edge of your notebook absentmindedly, though your thoughts were miles away. Tom sat beside you, his presence a calm and steadying force.

“Don’t stress so much,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. His hazel eyes were warm and reassuring, though they carried a tinge of concern as they met yours. “You’ve got this.”

You wanted to believe him. You really did. But the weight of doubt was crushing. This test wasn’t just important—it was the culmination of weeks of studying and sleepless nights, the last few of which Tom had spent patiently explaining concepts you struggled to grasp. You’d tried so hard to keep up, but now, sitting in the classroom with the test moments away, all of that effort felt like it might slip through your fingers.

The door creaked open, and the professor entered with a stack of papers in hand. The room fell silent, save for the shuffling of footsteps as he began handing out the tests. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing louder in your ears as he got closer. When he finally reached you, he paused for a moment, his gaze locking with yours. His expression was unreadable, but it made your stomach twist. He handed you the test, his fingers brushing against the paper, and for a split second, you considered not flipping it over.

But curiosity and inevitability got the better of you. Slowly, you turned the paper over, and the moment you saw the grade scrawled across the top in red ink, your heart sank.

You had failed.

The room seemed to close in around you. The lines of text on the page blurred as your vision clouded with unshed tears. How could this have happened? You’d spent hours preparing, pouring over every textbook, listening to Tom’s explanations late into the night. You didn’t want to believe it had all been for nothing, but the evidence was staring you in the face.