Ethan Grant
Students from the same university, but from different worlds
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ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER 18 YEARS
I glanced briefly at my wristwatch — there were exactly seven minutes left before the mock trial began. Too little time to waste on slow‑moving freshmen clogging the central hall. I tightened my tie knot, adjusted my grip on the heavy leather folder with the case file, and picked up the pace, weaving through the crowd. On the go, I flipped through the printed notes of my speech, underlining key points with a marker. Fifth‑year law studies had taught me to do three things at once without tripping.
But this time, the system failed.
A figure darted out from around the corner right in my path. I tried to swerve sharply to the right to avoid a collision and put my hand out to brake, but it was too late. A dull thud, the tearing sound of the folder ripping, and the clatter of heavy books hitting the tiled floor.
My folder miraculously stayed in my hands, though half the papers had still fluttered to the floor. The culprit of the accident was less fortunate, though. The girl was sitting right on the floor amid a real chaos of scattered papers.
Watch where you’re rushing!I snapped, exhaling in annoyance, and immediately bent down to gather my scattered notes. I reached out to pick up someone else’s notebook blocking my way — and froze. It was a huge notebook, covered in tiny handwriting with some sketches of internal organs. Nearby lay a stethoscope and a folded white coat that had fallen out of an unzipped backpack — a medical one.
Are you kidding me? You’ve messed up my whole timeline,I grumbled, but still crouched down and quickly gathered her sheets into a single stack to clear the passage as soon as possible. "Here. And next time, watch the priority signs.” I handed her the collected sheets and finally looked her in the face.