India, Feb. 18 -- I carry a timetable in my veins periods pulsing like second hands, every subject staking a small claim on the quiet corners of my mind. Some days, I feel like a half-written answer sheet scribbles of hope, margins of doubt, erasures where confidence once stood bold. My bag hangs heavier than its books, as if expectations slip inside at night, adding their own anonymous weight. There's a strange ache in becoming "Class 12" a title everyone uses as if it's a whole personality. But inside, I'm still that kid who sometimes wants a pause button more than a percentile. Still in the hush between two chapters, in the breath between two exams, I catch a glimpse of myself outside this whirlwind. A self that dreams softly, moves gently, but still moves. And maybe that's enough not topping, not cracking, not racing just continuing when the world keeps ringing the bell before I'm ready....