Untitled.

Silent thuds and footfalls, occasional creaking of the desks, screeching of the chairs, impatient taps of the pen, coarse and ragged yet silent breathing, rustling of papers, crisp turning of the pages, drumming of fingers, shuffling steps, someone sneezes, coughs, then sniffles—is it over? Nope. She blows her nose on a floral-printed handkerchief.

All these little noises I heard over the course of the last set of exams. There was a deafening kind of silence and when everyone’s tension had eased up, there was a collective common breathing resonating over the four corners of the classroom. No one talks or asks a question with each other, for it is an automatic excuse for cheating. Eyebrows furrow, mouths set in a straight line, hands clasping the pen as one jots down answers calmly if one is confident, furiously if one is hesitant. Then once everybody is done, all are anticipating the melody of the music, which signals the end of the test. After fifteen minutes or so, the piano plays softly over the intercom. Everyone breaths a deep sigh of relief and bigger noises would slowly seep in and settle. Everyone’s comparing answers, groaning if one is wrong, quietly yelping for joy if correct. Papers will be passed and a deep sense of resentment and satisfaction would be evident in all the students’ faces. It’s over. Yes. Finally.

I can go home now.