The four days passed in a blur of sleepless nights, and the day came without any delay.
Because the terror in my chest wouldn't let me rest, I woke up earlier than usual, rushed through my routine, and left the house well before my normal time. I didn't want to risk a single delay or make any careless mistakes. When I finally reached the college gates and stepped inside, the campus was already unusually bustling. Even though I arrived early, the hallways were filling up with familiar faces, along with several students who only ever seemed to show up on exam days.
By the time I made my way to the department corridor, the waiting area was packed. Everyone was huddled in anxious groups, frantically talking, comparing notes, and whispering about what the professors might ask. Older students had passed down rumors about the kind of trick questions the faculty loved to throw at you, and listening to everyone dissect every possible scenario only made my stomach twist tighter. The tension in the air was suffocating.
Because of the sheer number of students, my roll number was placed quite late in the queue. Sitting there on the wooden bench, watching classmates go in and come back out, some looking relieved, others pale and shaken, made the wait absolute torture. Every minute dragged by like an hour.
When my name was finally called, my heart slammed violently against my ribs.
I stood up on shaky legs and walked into the assessment room. The professors sat behind a long desk at the front, their expressions stern and analytical. When they instructed me to step forward and sit in the designated chair right in front of them, directly under the full weight of their gaze and the eyes of the other students waiting in the room, my mind completely blanked.
Panic seized me instantly.
When the lead professor asked me the first question about my project methodology, I answered them back. After that, they started to ask about other things which they told us in their lectures. I tried to remember everything and answer them but my voice simply refused to come out. My throat tightened, my hands grew ice-cold, and my whole body froze. The silence stretched out, heavy and agonizing, filled only by the terrifying sound of my own shallow breathing. I told myself, "what's going on? Why can't I..."
Desperate to say something, I forced my lips to move, stumbling over a few broken, disjointed phrases. But even as I spoke, I could see the disappointment and dissatisfaction in the professors' eyes. They weren't impressed. Surrounded by so many staring eyes, trapped under that glaring academic spotlight, my social anxiety completely paralyzed me. I had completely frozen up, and by the time I managed to mutter some sort of reply, I wasn't even entirely sure what words had come out of my mouth. My brain had wiped itself clean.
When they finally dismissed me, my legs felt entirely numb. I stumbled out of the room, barely registering where I was walking, until I finally reached my seat in the back and collapsed into it.
A few classmates immediately turned to me, asking anxiously, "Iris! What did they ask? What kind of questions did they throw at you?"
I shook my head slowly, staring blankly at the desk. "I... I don't know," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I completely forgot everything. I don't even remember what I told them."
I sat there for a long time, trying to steady my breathing, pulling out a small snack and forcing myself to swallow just to calm my churning stomach. I had to pull myself together. Over and over, I repeated the same thought like a mantra in my head: What's done is done. I can't change that moment now.
Dwelling on the disaster of the viva wouldn't undo it. With the main written semester exams looming just around the corner, I couldn't afford to break down completely. I needed to focus, protect what energy I had left, and keep moving forward.
When I reached my house and my room, I buried myself back in my studies. I forced my mind away from the humiliating blur of the viva room and poured every ounce of remaining concentration into my textbooks and review notes.
While my mind was already stretched to its absolute limit, desperately trying to memorize study details, practicing hard questions answers and survive the academic pressure, a quieter, much more dangerous shadow was creeping in, one which I was entirely ignoring. Ever since I was fifteen, I had struggled with my back pain . Sometimes it would flare up with a dull ache, but somedays, it blossomed into a sharp, blinding agony that made it nearly impossible to tolerate.
Sitting upright for two or three hours straight during exams had always been a quiet, agonizing trial. But I had always hidden and endure it. Back when my mother was alive, and even after her passing, I never wanted to burden anyone, especially my father, who had finally found a fragile sense of peace. Whenever the pain flared up during my sleepless, insomnia-ridden nights hunched over my desk, I swallowed the hurt, relying on quiet pain relievers and soothing gels just to keep functioning.
As the stress of the upcoming exams mounted, however, the pain worsened. Sitting in stiff classroom chairs for hours and pushing through sleepless nights drove my body past its breaking point. Yet, trapped inside my own head with the terrifying pressure of finals bearing down on me, I brushed the physical warning signs aside. I told myself I just needed to survive this semester, that if I could just endure, everything would somehow be okay.
I had no idea that my body was quietly keeping score of everything, or that the silent burden I had carried for years was about to return in a way I could never have anticipated.