𝑩𝒊𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝑶𝒇 𝑨 𝑭𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓

Chapter 7

"The quiz consists of 10 questions. You have exactly 20 minutes. You may now begin." Mrs Geller says, settling into her chair and putting on her glasses before turning her attention to the papers in front of her.

The room is unnervingly silent, broken only by the soft rustling of papers and the occasional creak of chairs. I take a deep breath, flip the paper over, and click my pen once.

I read the first question, carefully writing down the steps and the final answer. So far, so good. But when I get to the second question, everything stalls. It's different than all the questions I've practiced on. My eyebrows furrow in confusion as I read it again. Did we even take this?

Just skip it and move on to the next one. Louis' words ring in my head, and I decide to actually take his advice and listen to him for once. I roll my eyes. He's probably back there, moving his pen like a human calculator, writing down each answer perfectly without wasting a drop of sweat.

I sigh as I move on to the third question. Jesus Christ. If the woman wanted us to fail, she wouldn't have gone that far. I can barely get the easy and normal questions right, but these... these are high-level ones meant for math psychotics like Louis. I fucking hate Maths.

I skip that one, too and go to the fourth and, thank God, I figure out the answer almost instantly and jot it down, feeling a brief moment of relief. But, then when I go over the others...nothing. I have no clue where to even begin.

I check my watch. I still have 15 minutes, plenty of time to figure out the answers. I try to remember every note, every tip and trick Louis gave me. Come on, think, Layla. I manage to reach the answer to one of the questions by remembering a note he kept pressing on in our last session. Alright, seven questions remain. I try to focus, pushing my brain to think. But, still nothing.

My breath hitches, and it suddenly feels like I can't draw enough air into my lungs. I place a hand on my chest, taking a deep breath, then exhaling shakily. What is wrong with me?

I look down again at the paper. The words blur together, refusing to make sense. My mind starts racing, doubts creeping in as I struggle to focus. What if I can't do this? The fear claws at me, each anxious thought feeding into the next. What if I fail?

A knot forms in my stomach, twisting tighter with each passing moment. I clench my fists, feeling how sweaty my palms are, and how my hands can't stop trembling. Each second feels heavier, the pressure building, making it harder to think clearly. No. Don't freak out, please.

"Careful, you got 7 minutes left!" Mrs Geller announces.

The realization of how little time I have left dawns on me. Why can't I do anything right in my life? Am I just a lost cause? Stop. These. Thoughts. I can't afford to break down. Not here, not now.