Campus 2 did not begin by teaching us how to save lives.
It began by teaching us how to sit still, how to listen, and how to open books that were heavier than we expected.
Our program was officially called a foundation pre-medical pathway. The university explained it on the first day with careful words. This was not medical school. This was preparation. This was where they filtered people gently, with pressure instead of force.
They made one thing clear immediately.
All required textbooks were university supported.
No scrambling. No excuses.
When we walked into the anatomy lab for the first time, stacks of brand-new books waited on the front tables. Thick. Glossy. Heavy enough to feel serious.
TR picked one up and groaned."Why does knowledge weigh this much?"
The cover read: Atlas of Human Anatomy, 20th Edition.
JP flipped through the pages instantly, eyes lighting up. "This is expensive."
"Not for us," HS said calmly. "They're free."
TR hugged the book dramatically. "I love this school."
In anatomy, the Atlas became our constant companion.
Bones drawn with impossible clarity. Muscles layered like careful secrets. Every page felt like it demanded respect. The lecturer moved slowly, pointing things out as if we were meant to remember them forever.
NS sat perfectly still, eyes locked on the diagrams, already memorizing structure and names. Competition lived quietly in his focus.
Kitty leaned forward often, finger tracing lines on the page as if she could understand the body better by touching the paper.
I wrote notes carefully, sketching shapes in the margins, not because I was good at drawing, but because it helped me remember.
In physiology, the books changed.
We were issued Berne and Levy's Physiology, thick and authoritative, the kind of textbook that didn't apologize for being difficult.
"This one feels angry," TR said, flipping pages.
"It's honest," JP replied. "That's worse."
Here, we learned systems instead of parts.
Heart rate. Blood pressure. Oxygen exchange. How one small change could affect everything else. During practical sessions, we practiced taking blood pressure on each other.
TR wrapped the cuff too tightly."Is it supposed to hurt?"
Kitty adjusted it gently. "Only if you're doing it wrong."
NS volunteered without hesitation. His readings were perfect. He didn't smile.
HS reassured nervous classmates. JP timed procedures precisely. I focused on listening, replaying instructions in my head until they made sense.
Biochemistry arrived like a warning.
The university issued Lippincott Illustrated Reviews. Bright pages. Dense concepts. No mercy.
Pathways tangled in our minds. Enzymes refused to stay where we put them.
JP built an entire Notion workspace dedicated to biochem. Flashcards synced across devices. Color-coded systems.
"If I don't control it," he said quietly, "it controls me."
TR tried flashcards once. Gave up. "I'll rely on vibes."
Nutrition classes followed, ironically paired with our worst eating habits.
We learned about macronutrients, micronutrients, glucose metabolism, and dietary balance… then left class together and bought fried food because it was cheap, filling, and comforting.
No one pretended we were perfect students.
In microbiology, the Lippincott book returned, this time thinner but somehow more unsettling.
Bacteria. Viruses. Microscopic threats explained calmly, like they weren't terrifying.
"Everything is alive," PL muttered. "And it wants to kill us."
SP listened closely during labs. His hands were steady. Careful. He surprised people during phlebotomy practice, calm with needles, precise with motion.
ED mastered techniques quickly, already asking about international standards, certifications, and how these skills transferred abroad.
"Europe expects competency," she said matter-of-factly.
We practiced glucose testing, finger pricks, numbers recorded carefully. We learned how something so small could mean everything.
The university also issued comprehensive pre-med textbooks, thick volumes owned by the campus itself. Shared knowledge. Shared responsibility.
In social work and basic counseling, the tone shifted.
The lecturer didn't open a book right away.
"You are not here to fix people," she said. "You are here to listen first."
Even TR didn't joke.
I wrote that sentence twice.
Between lectures, we studied together.
Sometimes seriously. Sometimes not at all.
Kitty's notes were neat and patient.HS relied on repetition.JP relied on systems.NS relied on silence.TR relied on people.
I relied on observation.
Campus 2 taught us anatomy, physiology, biochemistry, microbiology.
But more than that, it taught us how we learned, how we reacted under pressure, and who we were when nobody was watching.
We didn't know it yet, but these habits would follow us far beyond the classroom.