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Chapter one :

My Examination day

Chapter One: My Examination Day

The sun was barely up, but my heart was already pounding like a war drum. I stood outside the examination hall, the air thick with tension, my breath caught somewhere between fear and hope. Today wasn’t just any exam—it was my final professional exam. The one that stood between me and the title I had chased all my life: Doctor.

I inhaled deeply, trying to steady the storm inside me. The hall loomed before me like a silent beast, waiting. As I stepped inside, a wave of anxiety hit me—the kind that tightens your throat and makes your palms damp. Desks stretched out in neat, sterile rows, each occupied by a student hiding their panic behind fluttering notes.

My eyes caught Annie and Nora. They were seated, heads bent over their flashcards, locked in final-minute revisions. I waved, forcing a smile. I couldn’t let them see how close I was to unraveling.

A stern-looking invigilator—mid-forties, pinched expression, clipboard clutched like a weapon—checked my ID and handed me the exam booklet. My hands trembled as I accepted it. The questions stared back at me, cold and relentless. I found my seat and sat, trying not to buckle under the mounting pain in my stomach.

I had been feeling it all morning—a dull, persistent cramp I’d blamed on nerves. But as the minutes passed, it clawed deeper, sharper, until it felt like something inside me was tearing. I bit my lip hard, pushing the pain down. Not now. Not today.

“You have three hours. Phones off. All notes away,” the invigilator’s voice rang out like a verdict. The room fell into a tense hush. Pens scratched paper. Pages turned. Time began.

I stared at the first question, my vision flickering at the edges. I blinked. Then again. The words swam. The pain intensified—burning, throbbing. I pressed a palm to my abdomen, willing myself to keep going. But my hand shook as I wrote, letters twisting into nonsense. My fingers began to go numb.

This wasn’t just exam stress. Something was wrong.

I clenched my jaw so hard I felt it in my chin. Focus. Just a few more hours. Just finish.

But my body was betraying me. The pain crescendoed, my head spun, and I felt like I was sinking beneath waves of nausea. I couldn’t breathe. Still, I wrote. Scribbled down half-formed answers with hands that barely obeyed me.

Three hours later, the bell rang. I bolted out of the hall like I was escaping a burning building. Annie and Nora called out, but their voices were distant, warped. My whole world narrowed to that pain ripping through me.

I staggered toward the campus gate, eyes scanning frantically for a taxi. One finally slowed, and I collapsed into the back seat, gasping.

“Hospital,” I rasped.

At the emergency entrance, I couldn’t feel my legs anymore. A nurse brought a wheelchair, and I was whisked through a blur of corridors and antiseptic-scented rooms. The world tilted. I felt like I was floating and sinking at the same time. Every smell overwhelmed me—disinfectant, sweat, metal, perfume—and I felt violently nauseous.

Faces passed me like ghosts. I was utterly, terrifyingly alone.

My name was called, and I forced myself to stand, my body shaking. The doctor who met me was young, kind-eyed, her voice gentle.

She examined me in silence. Then she said it. Four words that shattered everything.

“You are four months pregnant.”

I stared at her, unblinking. Pregnant? My throat closed. My chest heaved.