Mine Alone

The usual silence of your morning routine was shattered by the blare of your alarm. Oversleeping. A rare failure.
You rushed through the motions, the precise choreography of your life thrown off balance. Your father had already left. Grandma stood by the dining table, her face etched with concern.
“You forgot your quiz book, dear,” she called out, holding up the crucial notes. The test. You cursed silently. Time was a rapidly draining hourglass.
“Leave it,” you muttered, bolting out the door, the weight of unpreparedness a cold stone in your gut.
Minutes later, breathless, you slipped into your classroom just as the final bell echoed. You took your seat, the whispers of classmates barely registering. Your mind fixated on the missing book, the ruined preparation for the quiz.
Then, a voice. “William.”
You turned.
And for the first time, you truly saw him. Est Supha. Standing in the doorway, leaning casually, holding your quiz book. The world tilted.