The Geography textbook was finally closed.
For the first time that day, I felt relieved.
No more maps.
No more rivers.
No more memorizing chapters I would probably forget a week after the examination.
Whatever happened tomorrow would happen.
I had done everything I could.
With a tired sigh, I switched off the light and lay down on my bed.
The room was dark.
The ceiling fan spun lazily above me.
Outside, the world was quiet.
Everything was normal.
At least, it should have been.
A few minutes passed.
Then something felt wrong.
I opened my eyes.
The feeling was strange.
Not pain.
Not discomfort.
Just... wrong.
As if my body was trying to tell me something I couldn't understand.
I sat up.
Maybe I was overthinking.
Exams did that to people.
I drank some water and lay down again.
The feeling remained.
This time it felt stronger.
My heart suddenly seemed louder.
Not faster.
Not slower.
Just louder.
As if someone had turned the volume up inside my chest.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
I placed a hand against my chest.
Why could I feel it so clearly?
Had it always been like this?
I tried ignoring it.
A few seconds later I noticed my breathing.
Then I noticed every breath.
Then I noticed how difficult it felt to stop noticing.
My thoughts started racing.
What was happening?
Why did I feel like this?
Why couldn't I calm down?
The questions came faster and faster.
And then came the thought that changed everything.
What if I am dying?
The moment it appeared, fear took over.
Real fear.
Not the fear of failing an exam.
Not the fear of being scolded.
The fear that something terrible was happening and nobody knew.
I got up immediately.
I walked to my parents.
The words came out awkwardly because I didn't know how to explain what I was feeling.
How could I?
I didn't understand it myself.
All I knew was that I was scared.
Truly scared.
For the first time in my life, I felt afraid of my own body.
My mother listened.
Then came the response.
Some worries, I was told, did not need to be shared with parents.
Parents already carried enough burdens.
Children had to learn to handle certain things on their own.
I was growing up.
I needed to become stronger.
I looked toward my father.
A small part of me hoped he would disagree.
Instead, he nodded.
He agreed.
The conversation ended there.
For them, it was over.
For me, it had only begun.
I returned to my room.
Lay down.
Closed my eyes.
And listened.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Still there.
I checked again.
Still there.
Again.
Still there.
The reassurance lasted only a few moments before another question appeared.
Then another.
Then another.
By the time sleep finally arrived, the fear had already made itself comfortable.
The next morning, I woke up and immediately checked my heartbeat.
I didn't realize it then.
But that small action would become a habit.
A habit that would follow me for years.
Checking my pulse.
Checking my breathing.
Noticing headaches.
Noticing dizziness.
Noticing every tiny symptom that most people ignored.
The Geography examination came and went.
The questions faded.
The marks faded.
The memories faded.
But that night never did.
Because years later, I would realize something important.
The night before Geography was never about an exam.
It was the night I stopped taking my body for granted.
The night I started questioning every sensation.
The night fear quietly entered my life and refused to leave unnoticed.
The night that changed everything.