Know Your Worth

03

It's been a hectic two weeks, and I am close to a nervous breakdown.

The workload is actually insane. I had heard horror stories, but I never really knew how demanding the coursework was until the professor tasked us with reading four books for references.

They were not thin books. There is no way anyone is actually going to read them, so I end up googling a summarised version of the books. But there's this nagging feeling at the back.of my mind that I'm going to do badly on this assignment because of my lack of effort.

I really don't have the time to truly understand and internalise the concepts, and that frightens me. I have no idea how I'm going to remember the information for the exams. The thought of flunking and getting kicked out spurred me into diligently reading the online summaries, and writing decent mind maps to make sense of the information.

Trying to learn copious amounts of knowledge at one shot has never boded well for me, not even in high school. The lack of time to really sit down and study the information, internalise over a couple of weeks and then hopefully grasping it is already stressing me out.

Not to mention, the rough timeline of the academic year that was announced during the start of lectures meant that I only had about two months before the weighted assessments and timed examinations started.

Having all these whirlwind thoughts scrambles my mind and makes me unable to concentrate. My heart started beating faster and my hands started shaking. I can't even bring myself to continue drawing my mind maps. Suddenly I'm hit with the spiralling thoughts of self-hatred and disbelief at myself for being so unproductive.

I cannot do this. I can't. I can't. I can't.

I stood up and walked the entire length of the winding, circular corridor. I pray no one recognises and talks to me, because I actually might just do something stupid like burst into tears and overshare about my problems to a complete stranger.

I keep my head down, eyes focused on the floor to avoid eye contact with anyone. I hear people laughing behind closed doors, so at odds with my sadness and stress. Are they studying? Do they also face the same difficulties as me, or am I just the dumb one?

As discreetly as possible, I wipe my eyes and wipe the moisture on my linen pants. A few people do pass by me, but thankfully they are too engrossed in their own conversations to pay any heed to me.

I cross my arms and continue on walking. It's a really long corridor, and the further I go, the dimmer the corridor gets. I finally reach the twisting staircases and climb my way up, not even sure where I was heading.

I climb up the next four storeys, my legs burning and my palms dirty from holding onto the dusty staircase railings.

I stop short when I see the big black door. On top it is labelled as 'Hockey Gym', and there's music so loud it's blasting. I can literally hear the lyrics to 'Moves Like Jagger' and some laughs and curses.

Standing there, I leaned against the left wall near to the bin and slumped on the floor, bringing my knees to my chest. I have no business being here, but I just so tired that I find myself not giving a damn.

I closed my eyes and listened to the loud music, a welcome respite from the silence in my dorm room. I felt slightly better.

The door opens forcefully, and I startle.

I promptly ignore the steady footsteps and brought my head to my knees, arms wrapped around them.

I could feel someone standing over me, and I as peeked from under my arm to the floor, a massive shadow was looming over me.

I chose to pretend that I didn't notice, hoping that the person would take the hint and leave me alone.

The shadow didn't budge.

I didn't care, I continued ignoring, my eyes shut.

"Hey." A deep baritone voice said. It was undeniably, quite nice to hear to. Sexy, and I cursed at myself when I nearly got started at how nice the voice was.

"Hmmmmm?" I murmured, hoping he'd get the message.

"You okay?," he asked hesitantly.

I gave him a thumbs up, still with my forehead touching my knees.

"Look, I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be here. You don't play hockey, and if you need medical assistance I can call for an ambulance.." he trailed off, firm but somewhat kind. A little bored, maybe?

I decided to go for sympathy.

"Please. I just need a moment," my voice came out muffled. I just wanted him to leave.

I can feel him sitting down next to me, and I can also feel his warmth. He smells of a really nice mix of deodarant and cologne, which is suprising because you'd expect anyone who comes from the gym to smell foul.

Maybe he took a shower? The hockey team is well endowed here.

A simple tap on my shoulder. I don't respond.

Jesus, why won't he just leave me alone?

I stand up suddenly, ready to snap.

I stop.

Holy shit he's hot.

My eyes widen, but I recover quickly enough. I hope.

He has an amused smile playing on his lips, and he raised an eyebrow.

Stretching his long legs out from underneath him, he laced his hands together and stared right back me with his striking grey eyes. He has impossibly long and dark eyelashes, and I almost stupidly ask if he is wearing mascara.

Arched, dark eyebrows, strong, defined jawline with a slight hint of a stubble. High cheekbones. Straight nose and full lips. A mess of sable dark hair flopping over his forehead. As if tousled.

Long neck, strong broad shoulders. Muscular, veiny arms. He's lean, not built like a bodybuilder but he certainly isn't scrawny. I can see his muscled silhouette, courtesy of his well-fitted clothing.

He reminds me of a young Johnny Depp in the 80s with his shiny hair. A tattoo peeks out from being partially covered by the sleeve, at his upper left bicep. I think it's a compass? He's wearing an Apple watch.

But the tattoo on his right wrist is undoubtedly a swallow bird.

He's clad in a Ralph Lauren cotton tshirt that looks clean, not a drop of sweat seen. He looks freshly showered, confirming my suspicions that the gym is very well-equipped.

Instead of asking what his problem is, I end up asking,
"There's showers installed?"

I wanted to just vanish.
Why do I do this to myself?

"Yes," he replies, as if it was obvious. He looks at me as if I have gone mad. My mortification increases tenfold.

"I'm going to go now," I blurted and turned to fly down the staircase.

"Wait," he starts, but I'm already down the stairs and he doesn't follow me.

I rushed down, and even jogged to my dorm. The feeling of his stare chased me all the way.

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