I lived steps from the lecture hall. Alarm silenced by exhausted fingers. Sunlight stabbed my eyes—9:17 AM. *The exam started at 8:30.* Panic dried my mouth as I ran past classmates leaving the building. "Finished already?" someone asked. My empty answer booklet waited. Campus residency meant no traffic, no delayed trains, no excuses— just my own failing body betraying my prepared mind. The walk of shame back to dorm felt longer than the semester. *Proximity breeds complacency*, the professor wrote on my appeal. Still smell the stale dorm room air whenever I set three alarms now.