The chilly wind of early December slipped through the cracks of the campus windows, curling like a whisper around Haruto's neck as he flipped through his notes for the third time that morning. The once-familiar formulas and terms blurred into each other, a chaotic mess of scribbles and highlighted lines. Despite the steam rising from the half-drunk cup of coffee beside him, Haruto felt cold—suffocated by the looming pressure of midterm exams.
The university buzzed with nervous energy. Students marched to and from classes with a robotic focus, their arms stacked with textbooks, eyes glossed with sleep deprivation. The air in the dormitories had shifted. Jokes and late-night chatter were replaced by frantic page-turning, scribbled notes, and hushed panics shared over ramen cups. It was the storm before the grades, and Haruto felt like he was drowning in it.
Aiko, sitting across from him at the library table, noticed his furrowed brows. She had been sketching in the margins of her notes—little doodles of shooting stars and sleepy cats, her way of soothing her own stress—but she paused, resting her chin on her hand.
"You've been staring at that same page for fifteen minutes," she said softly.
Haruto sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Because none of it's sticking. I feel like the more I study, the more I forget."
Aiko gave him a gentle smile. "That's just the panic talking."
"No, this is different." He leaned back, fingers running through his hair. "What if I mess this up? If I fail, I can't keep my scholarship. And then—"
"You won't fail," Aiko interrupted, reaching across the table to place her hand over his. "You're not alone in this, remember?"
Her fingers were warm against his skin, grounding him for a moment. But the panic was a persistent storm, and her comfort, though sweet, felt fleeting. Haruto had always been a diligent student, but university was a different battlefield. The expectations, the speed, the competition—it wore down even the best.
He looked around the library. Other students had set up little study camps—walls of books, whispered mnemonics, empty energy drink cans forming miniature towers. Even now, he could see two classmates discussing differential equations like it was casual gossip. A pressure cooker, that's what it was.
Later that night, in his dorm room, Haruto stared at his desk covered with notes and flashcards. The light from his desk lamp cast harsh shadows, making everything feel colder. He glanced at the clock—2:17 a.m. His head throbbed.
A knock on the door startled him.
When he opened it, Aiko stood there, holding a thermos in one hand and a small container in the other.
"Emergency delivery," she said with a sheepish smile. "Ginger tea and anko mochi."
He blinked. "Did you really come all the way here just for that?"
"No," she said, stepping inside, "I also came to remind you to breathe."
He couldn't help but chuckle, the tension in his chest loosening just a bit.
They sat on the floor of his room, backs leaning against the bed frame, sharing tea and silence.
"You know," she began, "I'm terrified too. I keep dreaming I forget my pencils and walk into the exam naked."
Haruto snorted. "Sounds about right."
"But we'll survive it. Somehow." She nudged his shoulder. "You always find a way, Haruto. You're not someone who gives up."
He looked at her, eyes softening. "Only because you're here."
For a few quiet moments, the weight of exams, future dreams, and self-doubt melted into the sweet steam of ginger tea and the soft rhythm of their hearts side by side.
The next few days passed in a blur of library sessions, practice tests, and whispered pep talks. Aiko created a color-coded study chart and stuck it to Haruto's wall, complete with encouraging doodles. They began studying in shorter bursts, taking walks in between, breathing in cold winter air to refresh their minds. Haruto still panicked—some mornings, he couldn't even touch his books—but he'd always find a note slipped into his bag: "You've got this," or "Look at the stars tonight, you're one of them."
When exam day finally arrived, Haruto walked into the classroom with trembling fingers but a steadier heart. He spotted Aiko across the room, giving him a small thumbs-up before focusing on her test.
The paper in front of him looked like a mountain at first glance. But as he started reading, breathing steadily, everything began to settle. He remembered the night he couldn't sleep and Aiko's tea. He remembered her confidence in him, her belief. The formulas made sense. The answers came—not easily, but with effort and clarity.
When he finally set his pen down and turned in the paper, the weight on his shoulders didn't vanish, but it lifted slightly.
Later, as he waited outside the exam hall, Aiko rushed out to meet him, her face flushed with nervous relief.
"How was it?" she asked, eyes wide.
Haruto smiled, the first genuine one in days. "I think... I did okay."
She let out a breath, then smiled back. "Told you so."
In that moment, surrounded by the cold and chaos of winter exams, Haruto felt something powerful: not just relief, but a sense of growth. The panic hadn't destroyed him. With Aiko by his side, he had weathered the storm.
And he knew—this was only the beginning.