I distinctly remember the sepia tinged evenings, when I would return home after the day's work, with drooping shoulders and a searing headache to match, and in spite of it all, I would push and cajole myself, to somehow snatch those ever so elusive three hours from the jaws of the evening that would otherwise vanish into the quicksands of time, almost brutally so. Those three hours have made all the difference. I'll never question their strength or sanctity; I'll never doubt if they were good enough to get me a good rank. All I know is that I gave it everything I had during those three hours.
As the result approaches, I continue to read books that have nothing to do with this exam, I continue to try my hand at calligraphy, aware of, yet unmoved by the renewed efforts of other candidates for the next cycle. I'll probably never live those three hours again, irrespective of what future holds for me.