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.

She closed her eyes.

In the silence, she remembered her father’s voice: “Courage doesn’t mean you’re not scared. It means you do it anyway.” And her mother’s soft touch on her shoulder the night before: “You’ve already done the hard part. Now just trust yourself.”

She opened her eyes. The fear was still there. But now, it had a shape—a challenge, not a shadow.

Aarohi picked up her pen.

She didn’t know if she’d ace the test today. She didn’t know if every answer would come easily, or if her hand would shake the whole time. But she knew this: she would show up. She would try. Not because she wasn’t afraid—but because she was.

She stood, shoulders tight but steady, and began to pack her bag. Outside, the sun rose higher, painting her desk in bolder gold.

One foot out the door, she whispered to herself:

"No excuses. Just courage.”