The little girl lay curled up on her bed, unable to sleep in the stillness of the night, as the echoes of an argument from downstairs reached her ears. Finally, she slid off her bed, the shouting of her parents blending into the background as she gazed out her window.
The sight of the Nærøydalselvi River flowing serenely under the starlit sky brought her a fleeting sense of peace. This was the life she longed for—one of simplicity and calm, free from the ceaseless turmoil that seemed to plague her world.
She blamed herself every time her parents argued, convinced she had failed them in some fundamental way.
"What did I do wrong?" she whispered into the silence, her voice trembling.
The shouting from below only grew louder, a dissonant symphony of anger that weighed heavily on her small shoulders.
But then, as abruptly as it began, the yelling stopped. The silence that followed was deafening, unnatural. She froze, feeling a chill crawl up her spine.
That had never happened before. Her small hands clasped together as she bowed her head, murmuring a desperate prayer to Nótt, goddess of the night, to shield her from whatever shadows lingered.
Summoning courage, she ventured downstairs, only to find the dining room empty. Her parents had vanished without a trace.
Turning toward the window, she caught a fleeting glimpse of a humanoid feminine figure in the glass—a shadowy reflection that disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Fear gripped her as her heart raced.
I gasped for air, jolting upright, startling my mother.
"Where am I!?" I exclaimed, disoriented and trembling.
My mother, Helga, stood over me with a concerned expression. "On the couch, my dear. You must have dozed off while I was making breakfast. A Class President shouldn't act like that, you know."
"Right. Sorry, Mom," I mumbled, trying to compose myself. "I must've overdone it studying last night."
I was overwhelmed—my SATs were today. It was my chance to make her proud.
Helga's expression softened as she placed a hand on her hip. "It's good that you're working hard. I want my baby girl to ace that test. You'll have a bright future ahead."
She snapped her fingers, signaling that breakfast was ready.
"Now, come eat. You need to get that brain of yours running."
Her expectations had always been high. Ever since we left Gudvangen, Norway, I'd worked tirelessly to excel in every subject to meet her standards.
She had sacrificed so much after my father left us for another woman. She provided everything—food, clothes, a home. I owed her everything.
And now, I was about to take the SAT, the gateway to Radcliffe University, a prestigious institution formed six years ago as MIT's sister school.
"Mom, do I really have to be Class President again?" I asked hesitantly, breaking the cheerful morning atmosphere.
Her face hardened, the room growing tense. "Mary, it's for your own good. If people don't see you as capable, they won't take you seriously. You need to prove you can stand your ground."
Her tone was icy, her words slicing through me.
"Do you understand? If you do, then pray to Odin for your success."
"Yes, Mom," I replied quietly, closing my eyes and offering a prayer to the All-Father.
I knew why she pushed me so hard. She didn't want me to repeat her mistakes—choosing my father over her dreams. She wanted a better life for me, and I understood that.
But it was suffocating at times, the weight of her expectations bearing down on me.
Still, I didn't want to disappoint her, so I endured it.
Even so, the unease from my dream lingered, stubborn and unshakable. I couldn't shake how vividly I remembered it, as though I had been fully awake within it. The details were too real to ignore.
That shadowy figure—it wasn't something I could simply dismiss. Perhaps it was just a figment of my imagination, my subconscious conjuring a sleep paralysis demon to torment me.
"By the way, Caitlyn called," Helga said, breaking into my thoughts as she sipped her coffee. "She got into Harvard easily. She won't be able to call back for a while; she's busy preparing to move."
A genuine smile broke through my unease. "Oh, that's great news. Thanks, Mom. I'll reach out to her when she has time."
———
I arrived at Radcliffe University punctually. Judging by the bustling crowd of students, I wasn't early, but I wasn't late either. The anxiety was palpable on their faces, yet I felt confident.
Physics had been manageable for me since I was ten, and I never understood why others struggled with it.
It wasn't about being gifted; I simply dedicated myself to relentless study instead of wasting time online.
Taking a seat on an empty bench, I opened my books on history, English, and mathematics, reviewing them meticulously. The material came easily to me, though I stumbled here and there.
No matter how much I prepared, perfection was a daunting goal. Achieving full marks felt nearly impossible unless you were a genius.
Yet, my mother's voice echoed in my mind, urging me to excel beyond limits, to prove my capability. I had to push harder, to give the impression of flawlessness.
As I immersed myself in my studies, I caught the judgmental gazes of others. I overheard murmurs about how cramming on the day of the exam was pointless, as if their logic applied universally.
To me, preparation wasn't a choice—it was a necessity. Relying too heavily on confidence or complacency felt irresponsible.
I ignored their whispers and returned to my reading, steeling myself for the next two hours.
"Hey, mind if I sit?"
A light-skinned girl with curly hair stood in front of me, her expression tinged with nervousness.
I glanced around, reluctant to respond. Every other bench was occupied, and it was clear why mine had space—no one wanted to sit with me, and I preferred it that way. Yet, her awkward stance made me hesitate.
With a sigh, I relented.
"Fine, but keep quiet," I said curtly, my tone cold and dismissive. I didn't want distractions. I wasn't here to make friends, least of all with a random girl I'd likely never see again.
"Thanks," she said, sitting down carefully. "So, uh, are you nervous about the exam?"
Her question grated against my focus. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I decided to respond if only to stop the chatter.
"If you're nervous about the exam, it means you're not confident in your intelligence," I said flatly. "Have you studied?"
"Oh, uh, yes! I've studied a lot. I'm just nervous in general!" she replied quickly, extending a hand. "My name's Jasmine Cooper. You can call me Jaz."
I raised an eyebrow, unable to resist a dry joke. "Are you related to Sheldon Cooper by any chance?"
Jasmine tilted her head, confused, but I waved it off and returned to my book. "Look, if you're confident in your abilities, you won't have anything to worry about. Once the exam starts, you'll realize it's not as hard as you think."
"Wow, you must be a genius!" Jasmine exclaimed, her tone genuine. "I mean, exams are tough for most people, even me sometimes. You must've worked really hard to be this confident!"
Her words took me by surprise. Compliments, especially sincere ones, were foreign to me. Most people had mixed feelings about my academic prowess, often labeling me arrogant or condescending.
Even Caitlyn, my closest friend, occasionally judged me. While I usually dismissed such opinions, a part of me longed for acknowledgment.
And here was a stranger—someone I had no reason to impress—offering me the one thing I rarely received: validation.
"Thanks." I felt my cheeks flush slightly at her compliment.
It was unusual; I hadn't blushed like this since breaking up with my ex-girlfriend—or more accurately, since she broke up with me.
For some reason, I decided to engage in a conversation with Jasmine, closing my books as a small gesture of focus.
"So, why do you want to enroll in this university, Jaz? Why not Harvard or MIT?" I asked, leaning back slightly against the bench.
"Oh, probably because it's cheaper. I guess it was mostly my parents' decision," Jasmine replied, her expression thoughtful as she tried to recall any other reason behind their choice.
Ultimately, she shrugged, a trace of uncertainty in her tone.
"What about you? Considering how confident you are with your lessons, why didn't you go to Harvard?"
I hesitated for a moment, a faint pang of emotion surfacing. "Well, my mom wanted me to, but we're too poor to afford the tuition," I admitted, my voice carrying a somber undertone that Jasmine seemed to pick up on immediately.
"She's worked tirelessly, day and night, just to give me the chance to attend a prestigious school. That's why I'm here instead. It's also why I have to keep studying—I can't afford to disappoint her. I need to make sure her sacrifices aren't in vain. I have to become the best."
Jasmine regarded me with a look of concern, her eyes searching mine. "But is that something you want to do?"
The question caught me off guard, striking deeper than I expected. I froze, uncertain of how to respond.
What did she mean by that? Nobody had ever asked me such a question before, and it left me grappling for words I couldn't find. Did I want this?
The answer seemed obvious, yet something about the way she phrased it left me unsettled.
I glanced away, my thoughts clouded. Wasn't I doing this because I didn't want to fail her—my mother? Because I didn't want to fail myself?
Old friends had once told me I suffered from atychiphobia, the fear of failure. Maybe they were right.
That fear had pushed me to the brink and, in turn, pushed everyone else away.
Before I could formulate a response, the bell rang, echoing across the courtyard. The exam was about to begin. I exhaled, relieved by the reprieve.
Jasmine's question lingered in the back of my mind, but I decided to ignore it for now, shifting my focus to the task at hand.
As we entered the exam hall, I noticed the anxious faces of the other students—the same ones who had judged me earlier for studying too hard.
Now, they looked as if they were stepping into a firing squad, their expressions riddled with dread.
The contrast made me want to laugh, though I quickly suppressed the urge. This wasn't the time for amusement.
Jasmine, on the other hand, appeared surprisingly calm. Her earlier nervousness had vanished, replaced by an air of quiet confidence. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of respect.
It seemed my advice had actually made an impact, grounding her in a way I hadn't expected.
Her demeanor intrigued me. For the first time, I considered the possibility that Jasmine might be smarter than she let on—maybe even smarter than me.
If that were true, she could easily become a rival. The thought unsettled me; I despised obstacles.
But for now, I shook off the notion and took my seat, ready to face the challenge ahead.