Cram. Cram. Cram. The word was a blunt instrument beating against Sehrish’s skull. Her coursework was a blurred smear of ink and highlighter, a frantic, last-minute attempt to bridge a semester’s worth of procrastination in two measly hours.
Her pulse was a frantic staccato in her neck. Why didn’t I study? The thought was a bitter, jagged pill she couldn’t stop swallowing.
For a week, she’d been a nervous wreck. Their professor, a man who seemed to take comfort in academic suffering, had spent every lecture painting this final as a “trial by fire”. He’d practically promised they would fail.
The anxiety wasn’t just in her head anymore; it was a knot in her gut that wouldn’t untie. She felt like she was walking a tightrope over a canyon of failure.
By the time she hit the exam hall, her palms were slick with sweat. The room was deathly silent, save for the hum of the overhead lights. When the invigilator finally dropped the paper onto her desk, she didn’t want to look. She expected a death warrant. Instead, she found a walk in the park.
She blinked, scanning the first page. Is this a joke? The questions were basic, concepts she’d picked up just by glancing at the textbook headers. A slow, hysterical bubble of relief rose in her chest. She began to write, her pen flying across the paper with manic energy. Every answer felt like she was hitting the bullseye. She was finished in 40 minutes.
She walked out of that hall feeling like she was on top of the world. The nightmare was over. She’d dodged a bullet and then some.
Home was a blur. She didn’t even kick off her shoes before she hit the mattress. She fell into a deep, heavy sleep, the kind that only comes when a massive weight is finally lifted off your shoulders.
The sun was low and orange when she finally stirred. She felt refreshed, victorious and light as a feather. She reached for her phone to check the group chat, expecting to see her classmates complaining about the difficulty.
Instead, the first message she saw was from the class representative: “Guys, did anyone else almost miss the instructions on the cover? Thank God the invigilator pointed it out at the one-hour mark.”
Sehrish’s heart skipped a beat. She sat up, her mouth suddenly dry. “What instructions?” she typed back, her thumbs trembling.
The reply came instantly: “The bold print at the bottom. ‘Section A is for verification only. All credit-bearing questions are located on the reverse side of the final sheet.’ I almost turned in my paper with the back completely blank!”
The room seemed to tilt. A cold sweat broke out across Sehrish’s neck.
She remembered the paper. It had been heavy cardstock, thick enough that you couldn’t see through to the other side. She remembered the “End of Section A” text at the bottom. She had assumed it meant the end of the exam. She had answered five “verification” questions and walked out. She had left 90 per cent of her grade — the actual, gruelling, “trial by fire” essay questions — pristine and white on the back of that sheet.
She looked at the clock. The exam had ended three hours ago. The papers were already being sorted.
Published in Dawn, Young World, March 7th, 2026
