That friend who always had snacks in their backpack.
THAT FRIEND WHO ALWAYS HAD SNACKS IN THEIR BACKPACK.
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Remember those endless nights? The library lights humming, the weight of a looming deadline pressing down, and that sudden, inexplicable hunger pang that hit right when your brain felt like it was running on fumes. Just when despair started to creep in, a hand would magically appear, reaching into a seemingly bottomless backpack.
Out would come the salvation: a slightly crushed granola bar, a suspiciously crinkled bag of chips, instant ramen packets, or maybe even an apple that miraculously survived the journey. It wasn't just about the food; it was about the moment. A silent acknowledgment of shared exhaustion, a brief, much-needed pause in the relentless academic marathon. That friend wasn't just a snack provider; they were a lifeline, a beacon of thoughtful foresight in a sea of last-minute panic.
Their backpack was a legendary archive of emergency provisions, a testament to their understanding of the unique hunger that only strikes at 2 AM while dissecting a complex theory or perfecting an essay. Those impromptu snack sessions became miniature rituals, binding us closer, fueling our minds and spirits for just a little longer.
We all knew that friend, didn't we? The unsung hero of countless late-night study sessions, the patron saint of the famished student. Their foresight saved our grades and our sanity more times than we can count. What was their go-to snack? What did their backpack always hold?