Rushing to class with wet hair and no breakfast.
RUSHING TO CLASS WITH WET HAIR AND NO BREAKFAST.
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Remember those mornings? The alarm, silenced one too many times, finally jolting you awake with a sudden panic. There was barely enough time to shower, and certainly none to properly dry your hair. You’d grab a half-eaten granola bar from yesterday, or more likely, nothing at all, before pulling on whatever was closest and bursting out the door. The crisp morning air would hit your still-damp scalp, a slight shiver running down your spine as you half-walked, half-ran across campus. Your backpack felt heavier than usual, your mind already racing through the day’s demanding schedule. That hollow feeling in your stomach was a familiar companion, a testament to the perpetual motion and relentless pursuit of excellence. Yet, there was a strange, almost defiant energy in that hurried scramble. It was a badge of honor, a silent acknowledgment of the grind, a shared sacrifice understood by everyone else doing the exact same sprint. It’s a tiny, forgotten detail until suddenly, it isn't. It’s a vivid snapshot of dedication, a testament to what we pushed through, and perhaps, a small part of what we miss.
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