Being an 'occasional anxiety freak' sure does have its own set of challenges.

For example, getting super stressed about the simplest of things, indecisiveness, being self-conscious, overanalyzing conversations, getting sweaty palms, racing heart, low confidence, headaches, stomach issues and the list goes on.

Thankfully, I only fall in the categories of getting stressed, racing heart, indecisiveness and fear of getting judgement from others.

My friend, on the other hand, was completely chill about the whole thing. I turned my head sideways to look at her and asked with disbelief dripping from my voice, "Why is it not bothering you as much as it's bothering me?"

She just shrugged, munching on a nutrition bar as if I wasn't on the verge of an emotional breakdown, and said, "Because if I panic, who's going to calm you down? Besides I want to get this over with already? I'm starving and I need food."

On this I truly had to agree with her, it would be easier if we could just get this over with.

Bianca was just being her natural self and I was just being, well, me.

That was just her-unshaken, level-headed, and somehow always knowing exactly what to say. We'd met back in high school, thrown together by pure chance during a group project which she didn't want to be a part of. I was awkward, anxious, and constantly double-checking my notes.

She was breezy, borderline lazy at times, but surprisingly brilliant when it mattered. I don't know how it happened exactly, but somewhere between late-night phone calls, shared snacks, and last-minute cramming sessions, we became inseparable. And somehow, as if the universe approved, we ended up getting into the same college.

Different as we were, it just worked. I was the worrier; she was the one who made it all seem less terrifying. She grounded me-and in moments like this, I was more grateful for that than I could explain.

But now as we stood in front of the grand entrance of the very school we graduated from years ago, three years to be specific, i wanted nothing more than to just turn around and run away.

My hands were getting clammy, hundreds of different thoughts running in through my head, and that familiar knot in my stomach was only making the situation more overwhelming.

"Calm down, will you?" She chided me. " I am here with you, aren't i? So, why are you getting you nerves wracked?" I kept my mouth shut to that because I, myself didn't have the answer to that. Why was I being so nervous. Dammit.

My heartbeat was so loud that I could hear it in my ears but somehow I succeeded to calm down my heart a little.

So, here we were, standing in front of the main gate of our high school, contemplating whether to enter or just go back home. But running away was not an option today.

It would've been better if the ground would've opened up and swallowed me whole right now and I would've welcomed death with a smile on my face, not really though, but anything was better than this situation I was in.

There was a college 'semester assignment' that we had to complete, and the assignment was that we the 'college students' had to tutor someone from our former highschool.

On any other occassion I would not even bother participating in this kind of tasks where one had to revisit one's old highschool. Honestly, who in their right minds would want to go to their highschool after graduating? NOT ME.

So as any sane person would, I too decided to have a talk with my professor.

I still remember marching into his cabin the day he announced the project, completely baffled-and honestly, a little pissed. I asked him, point-blank, my voice a little high "what the hell are you thinking, assigning us to tutor high school students like it is some kind of a social experiment?!!"

I knew I had no right to scream at his face and disrespect him like that, because I was only a student and he was a person who was highly educated and a teacher of a university.

He looked up from his papers and stared at me for 2 long seconds, and I just knew I had that pissed off look on my face.

I had half expected him to be surprised and a little angry with me, because it's me we are talking about and he knew that I didn't have the guts to go upto a teacher's face like that.

But he just clicked his tongue in that infuriatingly calm way of his, barely looking up from the papers on his desk. "You want to be a professor someday, don't you?" he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I didn't answer-he already knew the answer because he made sure we told him what each of the students were aiming to be one day on the first day of college.

"Then start acting like one," he added, giving me that knowing look and scribbled something on a file.

"Real teaching doesn't start in front of a whiteboard. It starts when you meet someone who doesn't want to be taught."

He told me that this was standing as a great opportunity for a person like me, or students who wanted to take teaching line as a profession.

He also mentioned that it would help us to gain insight and understanding upon 'teaching' to a great depth and that he would contact our school principal to assign one of their students to us.

And with that, he dismissed me with a nod, like he'd just handed me the key to some great revelation.

Towards the end of our conversation, he casually mentioned that if we did well on the assignment, he'd make sure we passed the theory paper. So, of course, I had no other choice than get it done.

~~~~~~~~~~~

As I stepped through the familiar school gates, a sudden wave of nostalgia swept over me, catching me off-guard. It felt strange to be back, not as a student this time.

It was as if time had folded in on itself, pulling me back to the days when this place was the center of my world.

I hadn't expected to feel so much just by walking in, but there it was-that quiet, aching familiarity. The worn-out benches, the same cracked pavement, the bulletin board still crowded with faded announcements-it was all exactly how I had left it.

Even the distant chatter of students and the ringing of the bell stirred something deep within me. For a brief moment, I forgot I was here for an assignment, part of a college project.

Instead, I was just a girl retracing her steps, remembering the weight of final exams, whispered hallway secrets, stolen laughter, and silent dreams. Everything around me seemed to whisper, "you've grown, but we've stayed the same".

And in that stillness, something about being back felt strangely comforting-like slipping into an old, well-worn sweater that still knew the shape of me.

We made our way down the corridor toward the principal's office, my footsteps echoing in the quiet morning hush. The familiarity of the route surprised me, every turn still etched in memory, every doorway triggering a faint recollection.

Just as we were a few steps away, my friend, Bianca, suddenly stopped in her tracks. "Bathroom break," she said casually, already turning on her heel. I blinked at her, caught completely off guard. "You're seriously leaving me now?" I whispered, half-joking, half-panicking. She just flashed me a sparkly smile and a thumbs-up over her shoulder and disappeared around the corner, leaving me alone outside the office door.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the tiny storm rising inside me. Of course, she'd leave me to do the talking. Typical. I squared my shoulders and stepped forward. I could do this. Hopefully.

As I reached the office door, I paused for a moment, smoothing out the creases in my shirt and composing myself before knocking gently on the half-open door.

The principal looked up from a stack of papers, and for a second, it felt surreal to be standing there as an alumnus returning with purpose.

"Ah, I was expecting both you and Bianca," the principal said, her eyes briefly flicking toward the door behind me. "But I see it's just you today, Alyssa."

I offered a small smile. "She just stepped into the restroom. She'll be here in a minute."

"That's quite alright," the principal replied with a warm nod. "We can get started in the meantime."

She gave me a warm, knowing smile, as if she could still see the younger version of me behind my now-college-worn face.

It's a little embarrassing but the teachers loved me in my school days as I always did whatever I was asked to do.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, she handed me a thin file. "This is the student you'll be mentoring," she said, sliding it across the desk. I took it with quiet curiosity, already wondering what kind of person I was about to meet.

Someone who was at the very start of the journey I had once taken, walking the same halls, perhaps even sitting in the same classrooms I once did.

The principal leaned back slightly in her chair as I glanced through the file. "His name is Cole Owens," she began, her tone shifting into something more careful, almost measured.

"Bright kid, no doubt about it. Smarter than he lets on. But he's... difficult". She paused, as if searching for the right words.

The principal gave me a weary but amused smile as she leaned back in her chair. "Cole isn't your usual case," she began, her tone carrying the weight of both frustration and reluctant fondness.

"He's not quiet or withdrawn like most troubled kids. No, he's loud in his own way-smart-mouthed, sarcastic, and far too clever for his own good." She continues. "He walks into class late like he owns the place, tosses around comments that toe the line between funny and disrespectful, and somehow manages to stay just within the boundaries."

"He mocks his teachers with that cocky grin, like everything's a joke to him, and no one can quite figure out if they should laugh or be offended. Think of him like a class clown with sharp edges."

She gave a small chuckle before her expression turned serious. "But don't let that fool you. He's got a serious temper too-he doesn't go looking for fights, but when someone really gets in his way, he doesn't hold back. And when he snaps, it's quick, intense, and usually ends in a trip to my office."

She tapped the folder lightly. "He's a handful, no doubt. But I don't think he's hopeless. He just needs someone who won't get distracted by the act he puts on. And I know no other person than you who would be best suited for him." She ended with a slight smile.

Just as she finished talking, i heard a knock on the door, and I was thankful that my friend finally decided to show up after abandoning me.

But my happiness was short lived when the door opened and I heard a deep, rough voice-rich and low, with a velvet-coated edge that rasped gently like gravel wrapped in silk.

"You called for me?"

_________________

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