No matter how strong a person seemed, everyone had a breaking point.
Akutu had been managing—barely. Her new schedule helped, but the pressure never really disappeared. Assignments, deadlines, exams, and her growing passion for writing all competed for space in her mind.
She told herself she could handle it. She told herself she had everything under control.
Until she didn't.
It started subtly. Missed meals. Sleepless nights. A constant, nagging headache. She ignored the signs, believing she just needed to push a little harder.
Then, one afternoon, during an important group presentation, it happened.
She stood in front of the class, holding her notes, ready to present her section. She had prepared for this. She had practiced.
But as she opened her mouth to speak, her mind went blank.
The words she had memorized vanished. The slides on the projector blurred. Her heart pounded, her palms became sweaty, and suddenly, she couldn't breathe.
The room felt smaller. The murmurs of the class grew louder.
"Akutu?" one of her group members whispered.
She swallowed hard, trying to force words out, but nothing came.
And then, without thinking, she turned and walked out of the class.
She didn't stop walking until she reached the empty amphitheater behind the science block. She sank onto the concrete steps, shaking.
What was happening to her?
Tears burned in her eyes, but she blinked them away. She wasn't supposed to break. She was supposed to be strong.
A few minutes later, Jenny found her.
"You scared everyone," she said, sitting beside Akutu.
Akutu hugged her knees. "I couldn't do it. I—I just froze."
Jenny sighed. "Akutu, when was the last time you truly rested?"
Akutu shook her head. "I don't have time to rest. I have school, I have writing, I have—"
"You have limits," Jenny interrupted. "And you just hit them."
Akutu didn't reply. She didn't have to.
She had been pushing herself too hard, ignoring the signs, believing she could handle everything alone. But her body had reminded her otherwise.
That evening, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She had always thought that breaking down meant failure.
But maybe, breaking wasn't the end. Maybe it was just a sign that something needed to change.
The pulleys of life had shifted once again.