Rumination
The clock struck 12 PM, and a sharp pain twisted in my abdomen. My grip on the pen faltered—it trembled before slipping from my fingers onto the desk. Panic crept in as I pressed my hands against my temples, desperate to steady my racing thoughts. This was the toughest exam I’d ever faced, and it felt like the walls of the classroom were closing in. My mind spiraled with dread: if I failed, I would lose my chance at the specialization I’d worked so hard for. My parents’ disappointment loomed large, and an avalanche of random, anxious thoughts overwhelmed me. I looked around, seeking an anchor, a distraction—anything to calm the storm within. That’s when I saw her. She sat a few rows ahead, the girl who had once been everything to me. A year ago, we were inseparable. Now, we were strangers, bound only by shared memories that resurfaced without warning. I felt myself being pulled into the whirlpool of those moments—the laughter, the arguments, the connection we once shared. But I shook m...