The clock on the library wall clicked past 7:00 PM, casting a dim orange glow through the windows. I entered, hoping to find a spot among the crowded tables. With my backpack slung over one shoulder and a half-empty coffee cup in hand, I scanned the room. Every chair was taken, every table covered in textbooks and laptops. The air was thick with whispers and the sound of typing, a symphony of stress and focus.
Finally, I found a chair at the end of a communal table, squeezed between two other students. The girl to my left was deep in her work, her belongings marking her territory. I sat down quietly, trying not to disturb the fragile peace. My phone buzzed with a reminder from my professor about an upcoming essay deadline. The pressure mounted, a constant companion in this academic race.
The girl beside me didn’t look up, her concentration unbroken. But when she left her laptop open, I glimpsed an email from her academic advisor. A polite but firm reminder of impending performance reviews. It was a reminder of the invisible burdens we all carried, the expectations pressing down on us.
As I packed up to leave, I felt the weight of the library lift slightly. Outside, the cold air was a welcome relief. I looked back at the glowing windows, knowing I’d return, hoping for a little kindness in the crowd next time.
