Ahsaas POV:

As I stepped into the chemistry lab, I couldn't help but feel a mix of familiarity and intimidation. The state-of-the-art facility was designed to mimic real medical college labs, and it showed. The spacious room was immaculately clean, with gleaming white tiled floors and LED ceiling panels that cast a sterile glow. The walls were adorned with whiteboards and charts detailing complex reaction mechanisms, functional groups, and safety procedures – a constant reminder of the vast amount of material we had to cover for prep.

Here we go again. Welcome to hell's air-conditioned lab version.

My eyes wandered to the rows of transparent cupboards at the far end of the lab, where bottles of chemicals sat labeled with names that seemed to stare back at me like threats. The hazard signs didn't help, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. The air was thick with the faint scent of acetone, ethanol, and disinfectant, a smell that was both familiar and unnerving.

Ah, yes. Eau de “academic burnout with a hint of panic attack.” My favorite.

But it wasn't just the lab itself that had my senses on high alert – it was the palpable tension that hung in the air. We were a high-pressure batch, and the weight of our aspirations hung heavy over us. I could feel the silent anxiety of my fellow aspirants, each of us acutely aware of what was at stake.