Five Minutes Too Late
I open my eyes slowly and turn my head toward the clock. It reads 7:25 AM. For a second, my brain refuses to process it and just stares blankly, as if waiting for the numbers to change on their own. Then it hits all at once, sharp and immediate. School starts at 7:30. Not in an hour. Not in thirty minutes. In five.
For a brief moment, everything feels unreal, like maybe I’m still dreaming and I’ll wake up properly any second now. But no. This is real. This is happening. And I am very, very late.
Panic doesn’t come gradually—it hits like a switch flipping on. One second I’m lying there, the next I’m out of bed, heart racing, already trying to calculate how badly I’ve messed up. The answer comes quickly: very badly. The worst part is that my alarm didn’t fail me—I failed me. I grab my phone and check it, even though I already know what I’m going to see. 7:25 PM. That’s what I set. Not AM. PM. Twelve hours off. At this point, I don’t even have the energy to react properly. No shock, no frustration. Just quiet disappointment in myself.
I drop the phone and rush through everything at record speed. My phone battery is at 3%, blinking like it’s about to give a farewell speech. I don’t even bother plugging it in because there’s no time. I grab my shoes, shoving my feet into them without thinking, and immediately notice one lace is already loose, like it’s waiting for the perfect moment to betray me. I ignore it. My bag is half open, books sticking out at random angles, but I don’t stop to fix it. I don’t check if everything is inside. I just pick it up and go, hoping for the best.
And then, right when I’m almost out the door, it hits me. Today is not just any normal day. There’s a surprise test, a presentation, and notebook submission—all in one day. For a moment, I freeze completely. My brain just stops, like it’s trying to process too many disasters at once. I stare at the wall, unblinking, as if that’s going to help. Then reality kicks in again. Standing here is not going to fix anything. So I run.
I step outside, and the morning already feels too fast. The air feels sharper, the sounds louder, like the world is moving at double speed while I’m still trying to catch up. Everything feels slightly off, slightly rushed, slightly against me.
I reach the road just in time to see my bus. For a second, it feels like a perfect movie moment. The hero arrives just in time. The timing is exact. Everything is about to work out. The bus slows down slightly, and I take a step forward, already feeling a tiny bit of hope. And then it leaves. Not fast. Not dramatically. Just slowly enough to make it feel personal, like it saw me and still chose to go.
I stand there for a moment, watching it disappear down the road, feeling oddly betrayed, like I just got rejected by public transport. But I run anyway, because what else am I supposed to do? There’s no backup plan. There never was.
Halfway through, my shoelace decides this is the perfect moment to exist. I feel my foot catch slightly, and for a second I’m convinced I’m about to fall flat on the road. Somehow, I manage to catch myself, stumbling forward before regaining balance. I don’t even slow down. I just keep running like nothing happened, even though everything has already happened. A random uncle nearby looks at me and says something about morning exercise. I don’t respond. I don’t even look at him. I am currently in survival mode.
My phone vibrates weakly in my hand. I check it. Class group. “Ma’am is checking notebooks first period.” Of course she is. Of course today, of all days, she decides to check notebooks. It makes perfect sense in the worst possible way. And right after I read that message, my phone dies. No warning. No slow fade. Just gone. At this point, even my phone has decided it has had enough.
I shove it into my pocket anyway, even though it’s now completely useless. By the time I reach the school gate, I’m completely out of breath. My steps slow down, not because I want to, but because my body is forcing me to. I’m late, tired, and mentally preparing for consequences I haven’t even faced yet. Why
The gate looks the same as always, but somehow it feels more intimidating today, like it knows exactly what kind of day this is going to be. Everything feels slightly unreal, like I’m walking into something I already know is going to go wrong, but I still have to face it anyway.
I adjust my bag slightly, take a small breath, and step inside, because there is no turning back now. And somewhere deep down, beneath all the panic and chaos, there’s a quiet, certain feeling.
Something bad is definitely going to ruin this day.
I just know it.
