The Weight of 95 Marks
By Harshal Patil The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting pale gold lines across Aarohi’s study desk—still cluttered with open notebooks, half-drunk coffee, and a motivational quote she had scribbled weeks ago: "No excuses. Just results." Her alarm had gone off an hour ago, but she hadn’t slept at all. Not really. Just a blur of formulas, red ink, and the constant whisper in her head: “What if I mess this up?” She sat still, staring at the jumble of notes in front of her. Every word had once made sense. Now, they swam on the page like strangers. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the coffee, now cold, bitter, and stale—just like the panic settling in her chest. Aarohi took a slow breath. Then another. She glanced at the quote again. “No excuses. Just results.” The words felt like a command—sharp, unyielding. Outside, the world was waking up. A bird landed on the window ledge, chirping as if to remind her that time was moving whether she was ready or not....
