It wasn't the first exam. That was the cruel part. It happened halfway through the paper.
Juni read the question once.
Twice.
The words stopped connecting.
The room felt too loud and too far away at the same time, like sound was reaching him through water. His pen hovered above the page, unmoving.
I know this, he told himself.
Nothing answered. His chest tightened. Heat crept up his neck. His hands went cold.
You're wasting time. Everyone else is writing. You're going to fail. The thoughts stacked fast, heavy and sharp.
Juni pressed his feet flat against the floor. He remembered Evelyn's voice—not urgent, just steady.
You can stop. You can breathe. You're allowed to take a moment.
Juni closed his eyes. Just for a second.
In. Out.
He named things silently, the way he'd practiced.
Chair. Desk. Clock.
The ticking was real. Steady.
He placed his pen down carefully, then picked it back up—an intentional movement, grounding himself in the feel of plastic and metal.
His heart slowed by degrees. Don't finish, he told himself.
Just start.
Juni skipped the question that had frozen him and turned the page. The next one was simpler.
Familiar.
He wrote one sentence. Then another.
The fog thinned. Sound returned gradually—the scratch of pens, the rustle of paper. Juni realized his shoulders were still up near his ears. He lowered them deliberately.
Breathed again.
When he looked back at the frozen question, it didn't feel impossible anymore. Just difficult. That was something he could work with.
When the invigilator called out the final minutes, Juni didn't panic. He checked what he'd written. He added what he could. He let the rest go.
When time was called, he set his pen down and felt an unexpected wave of relief—not triumph, not defeat.
Survival.
Outside the exam hall, sunlight hit his face like a reward he hadn't expected. Elian was waiting near the steps, posture careful, eyes searching.
Juni caught his gaze and nodded once.
Elian exhaled. "How was it?" Elian asked quietly.
Juni considered the answer. "…I froze," he said. "And then I didn't."
Elian smiled, soft and proud. "That counts."
Juni nodded. "It really does."
They walked together toward the gate, the worst of the tension draining away. Juni felt tired—but steady.
He hadn't been perfect. He hadn't been fearless. But he had found his way back to himself. And that, he realized, might be the most important thing he'd learned all year.