Weekly Diary : Week 27
08 December 2025 (Monday) : A Small Kindness from a Stranger
Today was my Medical Microbiology theory exam, scheduled from 11:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. I woke up early, revised whatever my sleepy brain would allow, and reached college around 10:40 a.m. Outside the exam hall, I met Mice and Dragon—all three of us here for Round 2, sharing the same nervous energy.
Once inside the exam hall, I realized something important very quickly—two departments were sitting together, which meant two students per bench. I took my seat on the third bench from the front and started filling in the usual details on my answer sheet—name, seat number, all that formal stuff. That’s when I heard a polite, “Excuse me.” I looked up and saw a guy. Yes, my bench partner for the next two hours.
The exam began, pens started moving, and soon I was deep into my answers. While writing the second question, a familiar anxiety crept in—how much time is left? No wall clock. No digital watch allowed. And then I noticed something almost magical in that moment—the guy next to me was wearing an analog watch.
I wanted to ask him the time, but disturbing someone during an exam felt wrong. So I waited. And waited. And waited some more. My patience, however, has limits. Finally, very softly, I asked, “What’s the time?” He didn’t say a word—just turned his wrist slightly. It was around 11:55 a.m.
I sped up.
From that moment, my eyes kept drifting to his watch as I calculated everything in my head—this answer will take ten minutes, that one about fifteen… Basically, live time management in action.
Then he did something so simple, yet so kind.
He removed his watch and placed it right in the middle of the bench between us.
That one small action changed everything. I could track time easily, write faster, and focus better. Somewhere inside, I decided I would thank him after the exam.
But life had other plans.
He finished early, stood up, and before leaving, made sure I could see the watch once more—only 15 minutes left. Then he submitted his paper and walked out.
I rushed. Finished the last answers, tied my four extra sheets, and revised whatever I could. The bell rang right on time. I was done.
The exam went well. I wrote what I knew—and I kept writing.
When I stepped out, I looked around for him. I wanted to say thank you. But he was already gone.
Some people are meant to help quietly and disappear just as silently.
09 December 2025 (Tuesday) : No Cheating, Just Writing
I woke up early today with one clear goal in mind—revision. Today was my theory exam of Genetic Engineering and Genomics, and I didn’t want to leave anything to chance. My plan was simple: go to the library, revise with Tissue, and then walk into the exam hall feeling a little more prepared than yesterday.
So, I texted Tissue and told her I’d come to college with her. That’s when she replied that she wouldn’t be free in the morning. As there is an important practical from 7:45 am to 10:00 am, something she couldn’t miss. Unlike me, Tissue wasn’t giving the second-round exam. Regular lectures and practicals were still going on in college. Still, she promised she’d help me revise after 10 am.
So, the library became my waiting room.
As expected, it was crowded. Exams have this magical power—they suddenly remind everyone that the library exists. I found a spot, opened my notes, and did my best to focus while my mind kept checking the clock.
After 10, Tissue came. She helped me revise, explained a few things, and somehow made the chaos in my head a little quieter. That short window of revision felt comforting—like someone holding a torch for you just before you walk into the dark.
The exam was from 11:00 am to 1:00 pm.
Once I was inside the exam hall, a classmate sitting in front of me turned around and asked if I could help her during the exam. I looked at her and, very honestly, said I don’t know how to cheat. If I tried, both of us would probably get caught. At that moment, I had a funny little regret—I should have learned how to cheat back in school. But then again, I never needed to. And even if I had cheated, I doubt I’d remember when or how I did it.
So, I stuck to what I know—writing.
The exam went well. Like yesterday, I wrote and wrote… and yes, I ended up taking four extra sheets again. Some habits don’t change.
Walking out of the hall, I felt calm. It is simple: trust your preparation, accept last-minute changes, and don’t regret being honest—whether in exams or in life.
10 December 2025 (Wednesday) : A Quiet Goodbye to Round Two Exams
I woke up early today, revised whatever I could and then, like always, ended up in the library. Somehow, that place makes my thoughts behave. Surrounded by silence and half-awake students, I did my last revision for Drug Discovery and Bioinformatics.
When I entered the exam hall and started writing, something nice happened. The words came easily. The answers made sense. I didn’t have to force them. I just kept writing… and writing… and then asking for extra sheets. By the end, I had taken four extra sheets—again. At this point, it feels like my signature move.
The exam went well. I attempted all the questions.
When I stepped out of the hall, there was a strange, quiet relief. Just a soft thought in my head—this was the last exam of Round 2. It was over.
Of course, my brain still managed to make a small mistake. While checking my phone, I realized I had forgotten to stop my focus app. It happily counted time even when I wasn’t studying. I laughed at myself.
It’s okay. I’ll be careful next time.
11 December 2025 (Thursday) : Packing More Than Just Belongings
Today didn’t begin with plans or productivity. It began with cardboard boxes, scattered things, and the quiet understanding that today was about shifting—not just houses, but chapters.
The entire day went into packing because we had to move into a new house. When I came back from college, I didn’t even recognize our home. Everything was everywhere. No order. No corners left untouched. So I did what I could—I packed my things. Especially my books. Somehow, books always feel heavier on days like these, not because of weight, but because of what they carry.
The hardest part was taking down the calendar I had made myself and stuck it on the wall in front of my desk. The crosses weren’t even complete. Some days were still waiting to be lived, and yet I had to peel it off. That moment felt strangely personal, like closing a notebook mid-sentence.
By evening, we finally moved. I made sure my laptop stayed with me—no negotiations there. Some things are trusted only to oneself.
Dinner came from outside because all of us were too tired to cook. While Gaajar and my father went out to bring food, my mother and I stayed back. We cleared a small space in that messy new house—just enough for dinner, and just enough to sleep.
By around 9 p.m., we looked at each other and silently agreed: tomorrow. We’ll organize tomorrow. Some days are not meant for finishing things.
That was my day—packing, lifting, and quietly letting go.
12 December 2025 (Friday) : Where Effort Turned a House into Home
Today, I didn’t go to college. Instead, I stayed home and spent the entire day helping my mother organize our new place. It was just cleaning, arranging things, and doing those small household chores that quietly multiply during shifting. The kind of work that doesn’t get noticed but somehow eats up the whole day.
I focused on my own little corner first. I organized my desk, arranged my books, and made space for my laptop. It felt oddly satisfying, like telling my mind, okay, this is where we start again.
By evening, we stepped out to buy essentials—vegetables and other small things my mother needed. She kept telling me not to carry the bags, but I carried them anyway. She was already exhausted. Most of the packing, sorting, and organizing during the shift had been done by her, and this was the least I could do.
By the end of the day, I was tired.
13 December 2025 (Saturday) : When Being Late Didn’t Mean Being Lost
Today, I was late for college.
Tissue wasn’t coming either.
For a moment, I stood there with two options—rush, stress, and ruin my mood, or take a quiet turn. I chose the second one. Instead of running behind time, I walked straight to the library, carrying my notebook and my half-awake thoughts, ready to do some writing.
But of course, the library had other plans.
It was crowded. It was very crowded. My exams were finally over, but the FY exams had started—almost like the moment our chaos ended, theirs began. Desks were occupied, whispers floated around, and the silence I was hoping for was clearly on leave.
Still, I adjusted.
Because at the end of the day, the library isn’t my personal escape room. It belongs to every student who needs it, just like I do. So I found a small corner, sat down, and did what I could.
14 December 2025 (Sunday) : Deadlines, Lessons, and a Recrafted Calendar
Today, I woke up late—really late, around 8:00 am. Nothing special was planned, just a regular day. I tried to complete tasks from my to-do list, but by the end of the day, most of it remained incomplete.
But today, I did one thing right—I recrafted my calendar and stuck it back on the wall. It felt satisfying, like giving a fresh start to my chaotic planning. I also talked to that Discord guy in VC about using AI in writing. I wanted full transparency—if he’s giving feedback, he should know that the writing sample was assisted by AI. And surprisingly, he agreed. I can use AI.
Along with this, I realized my mistakes. The thing is — I had told him I would complete the Rural Stethoscope novel by 8th December 2025. I thought I could do it, but then I fell sick, and exams came. I accept it’s my fault I didn’t finish on time. The twist? I had set that deadline myself and decided the “punishment”—if I failed, Mister Stranger would stop helping me and part away. And technically, I hadn’t completed it.
For a few days, I didn’t know how to even talk to him. What would he think of me? Someone who makes big promises but fails to keep them? But today, while recrafting my calendar, I decided to message him. Luckily, he replied. I asked if there was really no punishment, and he said, from his side, it wasn’t. I felt immense relief. I don’t want to lose someone who gives me brutally honest feedback.
From this, I learned a clear lesson: don’t make promises you can’t keep, and don’t overcommit to multitasking.
I shared my newly recrafted calendar with him, and now, until the end of this month—31st December 2025—I have to share the first draft of the Rural Stethoscope novel with him.
Evening came, I prepared dinner, and then I went to sleep—ready to tackle my goals with a clearer mind and a firmer plan.
Another week gone—no drama, just a lot happening in its own silent way. Most of it revolved around my round 2 theory exams. I wrote them. I filled the sheets. But even now, I’m not completely sure whether I’ll pass or not. That uncertainty is still sitting somewhere in my mind, sipping tea and refusing to leave.
Then came the packing. Shifting to a new house. Taking a day off just to organize things that somehow multiply the moment you open a box. In between lifting bags and finding lost items, I also found myself recreating my calendar and sticking it back on the wall. A new wall, same handwriting, same hopes—just trying again.
Looking back, this week was less about achievement and more about adjustment. Exams tested my memory, shifting tested my patience, and that fresh calendar reminded me that starting over doesn’t always mean starting from zero.
So now, I pause here and look ahead. Another week is waiting. Let’s see what it brings—and whether I’ll be a little more prepared this time.
