A Desperate Fight for Survival in Northern Myanmar

The June rain came down hard and heavy.

It was different here in this rather chilly city. Walking along the street, the cold felt nothing like the weather down south.

I stood under the eaves at the school gate, watching rain cascade off the roof tiles and crash onto the bluestone pavement, kicking up a hazy veil of white spray.

The air was thick with the earthy stench of mud, mixed with the greasy smell of cheap fried dough sticks wafting from the breakfast shop by the roadside.

My phone screen lit up, its white glow glaring.

432.

Science track.

Those three digits were nailed into my skull.

The cutoff for a bachelor's program was 445.

Thirteen points short.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket, my palm slick with cold sweat.

People hurried past under their umbrellas. No one gave me a second glance. In this small city, one of countless fourth- or fifth-tier cities, the number of people who failed the exam each year was denser than the raindrops.

I opened my Moments feed, out of habit reaching to tap it. I knew that once I did, I'd find it pretty boring.

"Finally made it! Here I come, top 985 university!"

The post showed a high-scoring results sheet, already with over a hundred likes.

I scrolled down.

This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons or events is purely coincidental. Do not imitate.