The exams had commenced as scheduled.
The usually buzzing campus had turned into a quiet war zone. Students were scattered across corners of the corridor, rattling through their notes, quizzing each other, and mentally filing facts into whatever brain space was left. Some revised aloud, others paced, whispering drug names and anatomical landmarks like mantras. The air was heavy with nervous energy—the kind only a medical exam week could summon.
The schedule was brutal. Six days of continuous exams, with only Sunday spared for a breath. The first three days were for practical exams—Anatomy, Pharmacology, and Biochemistry—followed by written exams in the same sequence. No pauses, no space to process. Just one hurdle after another.
To prevent any unfair preparation, practical partners were announced only on the morning of each exam. Pairings were put up on the board at 8:00 AM sharp, a detail that only added to the morning chaos.
For the Anatomy practical, Suhani was paired with Ritika Bansal. She didn't mind that. Ritika was known for being warm, calm, and unnervingly kind. The kind of person who remembered birthdays and helped strangers carry files without being asked. But Suhani wasn't interested in kindness today. She needed competence.
Their task was to dissect the head and neck region, with special attention to the cranial nerves—particularly the facial nerve (VII) and the trigeminal nerve (V). It was a complicated region, where one wrong move could slice through the delicate structures the examiner would later ask about. Precision was everything. So was communication.
At the examiner's bell, a heavy hush fell over the dissection hall. Gloves snapped on. Scalpels gleamed. Each pair leaned in toward their cadaver, eyes sharp, movements deliberate.
Suhani's face was blank, focused. Her thoughts ran like calculations—identify, retract, slice, isolate. She didn't speak unless needed. Across the room, Vidyut stood over his table, sleeves rolled up, his face far too relaxed for her liking. His movements were fluid, unhurried. As if he belonged here. As if none of this required effort.
She tore her gaze away. Not the time.
As the three-hour mark approached, the examiner began moving from table to table, his clipboard tucked beneath one arm, a pen dancing in his hand. He asked rapid-fire questions, tested theory against practical, nodded at well-prepared pairs and sighed at the struggling ones.
By the time he reached Suhani and Ritika, they had isolated the key nerves neatly. Suhani answered his questions confidently. A slight nod from the examiner—subtle, but enough to know they were on the right track.
When the bell rang again, signaling the end of the practical, the tension in the room exhaled all at once. Students packed up their tools and slipped off their gloves with a sigh, murmuring their relief. Task one—done.
Outside, everyone was already buzzing about tomorrow's practical—Pharmacology.
---
The next morning began with a familiar ritual: rushing to the notice board.
Vidyut scanned the list, eyes pausing on two words: Aditya Mehta.
He almost rolled his eyes.
Aditya was a loudmouth with a fragile ego. He had always treated Vidyut like competition—accusing him, sometimes indirectly, of "stealing the spotlight" or "trying too hard." Vidyut didn't have the energy for pettiness today. He just needed to keep his head down and get through this.
The practical was based on clinical scenarios. Several sheets were laid out, each describing a patient case—symptoms, history, findings. Students had to prescribe the appropriate treatment, including drug names, dosages, contraindications, and side effects.
The room was soon filled with the sound of pens scratching across paper.
Vidyut read each case carefully, taking a few seconds to think before committing anything to the sheet. He had a habit of planning the full prescription in his mind before writing it down.
Suhani, sitting on a bench a few rows away, didn't look up once. Her pen flew across the page like her brain had been uploaded with the entire pharmacology syllabus. She didn't hesitate. Just wrote.
Time passed quickly. Too quickly. Soon, students began panicking—filling in whatever last-minute details they could before the examiner moved through, collecting sheets.
Vidyut handed his in with a calm expression. Two down.
Suhani exited the hall with a quiet, satisfied look. She wasn't going to celebrate yet, but she felt grounded.
Still, something kept poking at her. Every time Vidyut crossed her field of vision, her focus faltered for half a second. Her irritation hadn't dulled. She told herself to rise above it, to be unbothered. But she wasn't.
Vidyut had sensed the change too. Her silence had shifted from cool to combative. She didn't glare, but she didn't look away either. Like she wanted him to know she was done tolerating him. He didn't know what exactly he had done to provoke this new level of hostility, but he had started forming his own theory:
Suhani Malhotra thought the universe revolved around her.
---
The Biochemistry practical was scheduled for the afternoon. Most students showed up early to revise, finding refuge in the library, hoping to anchor their anxiety in notes and printouts. Suhani was there too, her fingers tracing bullet points, but her mind occasionally wandered—never too far from one name.
When it was time, the familiar crowd gathered near the pairing list. Suhani's eyes scanned the page.
Then froze.
Her name.
Beside his.
Vidyut Singhania.
Her stomach dipped.
She turned slightly, instinctively knowing he'd be somewhere nearby—and there he was, standing against the wall, already looking at her. His face was unreadable.
She didn't blink. Just turned around and walked straight into the lab.
The task was to estimate fasting blood glucose using the Glucose Oxidase-Peroxidase (GOD-POD) method and document the full experimental process.
Without a word, they divided the roles.
"I'll do the pipetting. You can write the procedure," Vidyut said quietly.
"Alright. I'll handle the colorimeter too," Suhani replied, equally neutral.
They moved like machines. Efficient, fast, silent. Vidyut prepared the reagents and placed the test tubes into the incubator. Suhani scribbled the method, then returned to the station to check the tubes.
As she began measuring optical density, her brow furrowed.
134 mg/dL.
That was high. Too high.
Vidyut returned and caught her expression.
"You pipetted the wrong amount," Suhani hissed under her breath, alarm creeping into her voice. "Now we're running out of time!"
"I double-checked everything," Vidyut said, clearly rattled. "We still have time. If we work fast, we can redo it."
They didn't argue. Just moved.
In under five minutes, they drained the previous solution, cleaned the apparatus, and began again.
"Let me do it this time," Suhani said.
"Okay."
They worked in tense harmony, racing against the clock. The second trial went smoother. Accurate measurements. A normal reading. They jotted it down, signed the sheets, and submitted them just as the examiner called time.
Breathless, they sank onto the stools beside their table.
Their shoulders slowly dropped. It was done.
They were still recovering when Prof. Jain walked over.
"I noticed you had some trouble with your first run," he said, eyes flicking between them. "But I also saw how well you worked together under pressure. That kind of teamwork is rare. You'll be given extra points for that."
He turned and left.
For a moment, both stared blankly. Then, slowly, they smiled.
"Good work," Vidyut said, a little awkward.
"You too," Suhani replied, turning to walk away—just a little slower than before.