Eternal Ephemerals

By a margin

Rose glanced up from her desk, eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the sight of Sam sprawled out on her bed. Sam was fast asleep, as usual—her body half-buried under a blanket, an open book resting on her chest. The desk lamp cast a soft glow over the room, illuminating the clutter of papers and notebooks strewn across Sam's side. There was an empty coffee cup on her nightstand, a laptop screen still glowing with some half-finished assignment, and yet Sam looked perfectly at peace, as though she had all the time in the world.

It was 3 PM. Rose had been awake since dawn, working through the mountain of assignments, revising her notes, trying to stay ahead of her deadlines. Sam, on the other hand, had spent most of the day napping, attending a couple of club meetings, and engaging in a philosophical discussion with their neighbor about the nature of free will. And now here she was, sleeping soundly while Rose stared down at her study materials, struggling to focus.

It drove her mad sometimes.

It wasn't that Sam didn't work hard. She did, in her own way. But everything just seemed so easy for her. She floated through life, as though none of the usual rules applied, balancing a hundred different things with little more than a smile and a shrug. Sam could stay up all night before an exam, cramming last-minute, and still ace it. No, not just ace it—come in first every single time.

Rose ran her fingers through her hair and forced herself to focus back on her textbook. The words were beginning to blur from staring at them too long, and her hand ached from taking notes for hours on end. She'd been preparing for this upcoming exam for weeks, going over every chapter, memorizing every formula. The anxiety that came with it was always there, a tight knot in her stomach, pushing her to work harder, study longer.

But Sam?

Sam had picked up her notes the night before their last exam, flipped through them once like she was reading the morning news, and somehow still managed to score higher than everyone in the class. Rose had studied for weeks for that same test. She'd stayed up late, reviewed every chapter, run through her flashcards over and over again until the information was ingrained in her memory. And even then, Sam had beaten her—by a margin.

She always beat her by a margin.

Rose glanced at Sam's sleeping form again, and a familiar wave of frustration washed over her. Sam had this way of making everything look effortless—balancing leadership in multiple clubs, running dorm meetings, socializing with people from half a dozen different circles. She was the one everyone went to for help when something broke, the one who had a toolkit under her bed and could fix leaky faucets and malfunctioning laptops with ease. She had this weird ability to be both incredibly involved in everyone's lives and completely distant at the same time, as if she was part of everything without ever truly being in it.

And that's what drove Rose crazy. Sam wasn't just good at one thing—she was good at everything.

Philosophy, poetry, engineering, theology—Sam devoured books on all of it. She could go from reading a romantic poem to discussing quantum mechanics without batting an eye. She was weirdly philosophical too, always diving into deep conversations about the meaning of life or free will, and yet she never seemed weighed down by any of it. People respected her. Some were even intimidated by her. But Sam didn't care. She had this unshakable sense of self, like she already knew exactly who she was and didn't need anyone else's validation.

And meanwhile, there was Rose—always working, always pushing, always trying to stay ahead. No matter how hard she worked, no matter how much she studied or prepared, Sam was always a step ahead.

It wasn't that Rose didn't like Sam. She did. Sam could be funny, grounded, even helpful when you needed her to be. And despite her quirks, she never bragged about her achievements. She just... existed. But that's what made it harder. Rose didn't dislike Sam. She just couldn't stop feeling like she was constantly running to catch up to someone who wasn't even trying to win.

The night before their last big exam, Rose had paced the room, flashcards in hand, muttering formulas under her breath while Sam sat cross-legged on her bed, flipping lazily through her notes.

"Aren't you worried?" Rose had asked, unable to help herself.

Sam had looked up, smiled lazily, and said, "It's fine. I'm just absorbing the information. No big deal."

Absorbing the information. As if it was something you could just do, without hours of work, without pushing yourself to the brink. But that was Sam for you. Everything just slid off her shoulders, as though life was one big adventure she was casually strolling through.

And then the next day? Sam had breezed into the exam room, yawning, looking completely relaxed. Rose had walked in with a knot in her stomach, her brain buzzing with last-minute anxiety. Sam had finished her exam early. Rose had stayed until the very last minute, double-checking her answers, mentally preparing for the worst. And yet, Sam had come out on top again—valedictorian by a margin.

Rose stared down at her notes now, the frustration bubbling up inside her. She wasn't someone who usually let jealousy get the best of her, but this... this was hard. Rose knew she worked harder. She had to. Hard work was the only way she got anywhere. The only way she kept up. But with Sam? It was like she was watching someone sail through life on a current, while she had to row her boat with everything she had just to stay afloat.

It didn't feel fair.

Sam stirred slightly in her sleep, turning onto her side, her blanket half falling off the bed. Rose sighed, rubbing her temples, trying to push the feelings away. It wasn't Sam's fault. Sam wasn't even aware of how much easier things seemed for her. And it wasn't like Sam was undeserving—she was smart, incredibly smart. But Rose had put in the work. She had sacrificed her free time, her social life, her sleep, just to stay ahead. And yet, here she was, sitting behind Sam once again.

Sometimes, Rose wondered if she should stop caring about the comparisons. If she should just accept that Sam's talents were different from her own and that maybe, no matter how hard she tried, there would always be people like Sam who made it look effortless. Maybe Rose needed to find peace in her own hard work and stop measuring herself against someone who didn't even seem to realize there was a competition.

But that was easier said than done.

In a few weeks, their families would be attending graduation. Sam would be giving the valedictorian speech, standing on that stage, radiant as always, while Rose would sit in the audience, watching, knowing how much she had pushed herself, knowing how close she had come—and yet still feeling miles behind.

Rose picked up her pen again and tried to focus. It is what it is, she told herself. She was doing her best, and that had to be enough. But even as she turned the page in her notes, she couldn't shake the feeling that sometimes, hard work wasn't enough. Not when there were people like Sam—people who could nap, lead three clubs, debate philosophy, and still stand at the top of the class, smiling like it had all been a breeze.

It is what it is, she thought again, the words hollow.

And she forced herself to study, one page at a time.