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Finals. First semester. The beginning of the stretch every professor had been warning us about since orientation—like some doomsday prophecy that wasn’t one cataclysmic event, but a slow grind stretched over days. Paper after paper, test after test. A marathon, not a sprint.
Val and I dragged ourselves out of bed earlier than usual, groggy but still managing the usual routine: brush, shower, dress, argue briefly about whether my tie was crooked (it was), and then head to campus. < ...
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