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Chapter Text

Harlo was woken from her deep silver by the blaring sound of her 5:45am alarm, its sharp ring slicing through the stillness of her apartment. Her eyes cracked open, squinting at the dim, early light filtering through the curtains, and she groaned softly. Her body felt heavy, the weight of two nights of little sleep still clinging to her. For a few moments, she stayed there, eyes closed, body stretched out, wishing for just a few more minutes of peace before the day began. But the alarm didn’t give her a choice.

Reluctantly, she reached for her phone, fumbling to silence it, the sound of the vibrating screen still ringing in her ears. Blinking rapidly, she pushed herself up, her limbs protesting the movement as she tried to shake off the drowsiness. She was running on barely two and a half hours sleep, the kind of sleep that offered no rest, no peace, just a constant low hum of exhaustion. 

With a deep sigh, Harlo swung her legs over the side of the bed. The cold hardwood floor greeted her bare feet, the chill making her wince before the coolness was replaced by the weight of her own tiredness. Moving like she was underwater, Harlo stumbled her way into the bathroom, her mind still hazy, thoughts of the previous days - Wednesday, mostly - floating in and out of her consciousness. The soft, lingering warmth of Jimin’s smile, the subtle tension from their brief interaction, and the mix of longing and fear that still clung to her. But she couldn’t focus on that now. She had a routine, and it would keep her grounded.

The shower was the first step in shaking off the mental fog. Harlo adjusted the water temperature, stepping under the stream of hot water, letting it rush over her skin and momentarily pulling her into the present. The warmth enveloped her, a small comfort in the otherwise quiet, cold apartment. The steam began to cloud the mirror, filling the bathroom with a soft haze. The scent of lavender body wash mixed with the heat of the water, grounding her, but it didn’t quite clear her head. 

As the water poured over her, her mind drifted - unbidden and sharp. Memories from her childhood in Anseong flashed through her mind like broken fragments of a dream. Faces and voices blurred, moments too distant and clouded to make sense of. The cold, distant air of her small town, the sense of being ignored, isolated, the way her home always seemed just a little too quiet or too loud all at once. The details were hazy - flickers of things that didn’t bear thinking about, but there they were, creeping into her thoughts despite her attempts to push them away.

Harlo squeezed her eyes shut, letting the water wash over her face, trying to steady herself. These memories were always there, just beneath the surface. She’d learned to shut them out, to bury them beneath the weight of her studies and routines. It was easier to keep moving, to focus on what was in front of her. But sometimes, like now, they seeped in, lingering and uncomfortable, demanding attention she didn’t want to give.

She focused on the warmth of the water, letting it calm the tightening in her chest, her breath steadying as she forced herself back into the present. The water didn’t take away Harlo’s memories, but it gave her something else to hold on to, something tangible. The past could be ignored for now. She had a routine to return to, a day to get through, and that, for now, was enough.

When she stepped out of the shower, she felt slightly more alert, though still weighed down by exhaustion. She reached for the towel, wrapping it around her hair before pulling on her robe. The warmth of the fabric was comforting, and the small, familiar motions of drying off helped steady her, bringing her back into the familiar routine of her morning.

Harlo made her way to the wardrobe with practiced steps. She pulled out a pair of deep red, checkered pyjama bottoms and an oversized, plain black t-shirt - comfortable and easy, the kind of clothes she could just slip into without thought. She dressed quickly, her motions automatic, before tossing her towel in the hamper and hanging her robe on the bathroom door.

Walking back to her bed, Harlo reached for her journal and pen from the bedside table. She opened to a fresh page and paused for a moment, unsure of what to write. Lately, her journal had been filled with thoughts of her soulmates, especially Jimin. But today, it wasn’t the idea of soulmates that had her unsettled. Today, it was the persistent unease she felt about leaving her apartment, about facing the world outside.

The anxiety that had been simmering in the background for days came to the forefront, bubbling up as she wrote about the tightness in her chest, the restlessness that had begun to gnaw at her even before she had woken up. She was used to these feelings, but they were especially heavy today. Writing it all down helped, just a little.

Fifteen minutes passed, the words flowing more easily now, but the weight of her thoughts were still present. As her alarm went off again, Harlo closed her journal with a soft sigh, setting it back in the drawer before grabbing her book, The Brothers Karamazov . She had been reading it on and off for days now, and today, the complex story was a welcome distraction.

She settled back into ded, lying upright on the covers, the weight of the book resting in her hands. The book was dense, filled with philosophical ideas about morality, existence, and human nature, and Harlo found herself absorbed in the narrative. The deeper she got into the story, the more the book pulled her away from her thoughts, allowing her to get lost in the pages, at least for a little while. She managed to get through another forty pages before her next alarm rang, reminding her that it was time to get moving.

Reluctantly, Harlo set the book aside on her bedside table, the characters and moral dilemmas of the Karamazov brothers still fresh in her mind. She had to get ready.

She unrolled her yoga mat from where it was tucked at the foot of the bed, taking a moment to breathe deeply before starting her practice. The stretches, slow and deliberate, helped to stretch out of the tightness in her body, the stiffness from the lack of sleep. Each breath, each movement, helped clear her mind a little more, grounding her back into the present. After 15 minutes, she felt better - less tense, more focused.

Glancing at the weather app on her phone, she saw that it was 7℃, a bit colder than yesterday. She pulled on a burgundy turtleneck long-sleeve t-shirt, layering it with a black sweatshirt for warmth. Her black corduroy trousers and charcoal grey trainer socks completed the look. She slipped on her knock off UGG boots, the soft fabric a familiar comfort for days like today.

After brushing her hair quickly, she pulled it up into a messy, practical bun using a claw clip, her fingers fumbling slightly from the lingering haze of tiredness. The stray strands of hands framing her face felt like a small rebellion against the otherwise tidy and routine nature of her life.

With her coat hanging nearby, Harlo grabbed it, checking the time - 7:40am. Another reminder that the day had already begun, and it was time to move forward. 

Harlo moved to the kitchen with quiet purpose, the familiar motions of her morning routine already etched into her body. The soft hum of the coffee machine greeted her as she prepared her daily ritual. The scent of freshly brewed coffee began to fill the air, rich and comforting, a small anchor to hold onto before stepping into the day ahead.

She reached for her favourite mug, nestled in its usual spot on the counter. It was nothing fancy - a simple white mug she had picked up from a thrift store when she moved to Seoul at eighteen. It had been the first thing she’d bought for her apartment, a small token of independence. The faint blue lines that wrapped around its surface were now faded with time and use, barely visible in some places. Chips dotted its edges, small imperfections she had never minded, each one telling its own quiet story of late nights and early mornings. Despite its wear, the mug remained a steadfast part of her routine, a familiar comfort in a life often dictated by change.

Pouring the hot liquid into a mug, she added the double shot of espresso, stirring slowly as the steam curled upward and warmed her face. The first sip was as bitter as ever, but Harlo didn’t flinch; she welcomed the sharpness, the jolt it gave her, easing her into wakefulness.

With her first red-eye coffee in hand, Harlo began preparing the rest. Two large travel mugs were lined up neatly on the counter, ready to be filled with the fuel that would get her through the day. Her movements were methodical, pouring and sealing each mug with precision before slipping them into her already weighty rucksack. She adjusted the placement carefully, ensuring they were secure and wouldn’t spill among the books, notebooks, and folders inside.

As the minutes ticked by, Harlo drained the last of her coffee, rinsed the mug, and ran her fingers lightly over the faded blue lines before setting it back in its spot on the counter. It was chipped, a little worn out, but it still held a kind of charm that made it irreplaceable. 

Glancing at the clock, Harlo saw it was 8am. The soft chime of her alarm vibrated in her pocket, a reminder that it was time to leave. 

She moved back to the living room, shrugging on her coat and adjusting the collar as she grabbed her rucksack. Its weight pulled slightly at her shoulders, but the familiar burden didn’t bother her. It was a part of her, like the steady rhythm of her routine.

Harlo stepped out into the cool morning air, the bite of it sharp against her skin as she  adjusted her coat. The world outside her apartment was quiet but stirring, the streets waking up slowly as she began her walk. Pulling out her earphones, she slipped them in and started the latest episode of 99% Invisible , the soothing narration immediately filling her ears.

The podcast had become a comforting constant in her days. Harlo found herself focusing on the words, letting them pull her attention away from the ever-present hum of unease in her chest. She let the familiar streets guide her, her pace steady as the combination of caffeine and routine pushed her forward.

–

A little over twenty minutes later, Harlo reached the familiar doors of the lecture hall for her first class of the day: Pathophysiology. Her walk to campus had been brisk, the cool air biting at her cheeks and urging her forward, but the tightness in her chest remained, a constant reminder of the morning’s unease.

The hallway outside the lecture hall was alive with the muted buzz of students gathering. Harlo moved quietly past the groups of early arrivals, their voices blending into the background as she slipped through the open doors and into the brightly lit room. The faint smell of whiteboard markers and faintly stale coffee hung in the air. She let her eyes dart briefly across the rows of desk, searching for the seat she always chose: second from the front, on the right side. It was directly in line with Dr Kim’s podium, a place where she could focus fully without distraction.

The weight of her rucksack shifted slightly as she set it on the floor and began unpacking her materials. Her hands moved automatically - pen, notebook, and the slim, meticulously organised folder designated for Pathophysiology. Each item was placed neatly on the desk, their order precise. Her fingers lingered on the edge of her notebook for a moment, grounding herself in the familiar.

This was a class Harlo usually felt confident in. The material was challenging, but fascinating, and the quiz ahead - worth 10% of her semester grade - was something she’d been preparing for all week. Yet, despite the hours she’d spent studying, a faint whisper of doubt crept in, fueled by the blurry flashes from her shower that morning. She’d pushed those memories aside earlier, but now they threatened to resurface. She couldn’t afford that. Not now.

Dr Kim entered the room at 8:20am, his arrival marked by his polished shoes against the tiled floor. A tall man with sharp, angular features and neatly combed black hair, his presence commanded attention without the need for raised voices or dramatic gestures. The quiet authority he exuded had made him one of the most respected professors in the pharmacy school.

Harlo had taken a class with him last year during her first year of pharmacy school. His reputation as strict but fair had preceded him, but she’d quickly learned there was more to him than his stoic exterior. To her surprise, she’d not only excelled in his class but had also been asked to be his teaching assistant during her second semester - a rare opportunity for a first-year student. Their work together had forged a bond of mutual respect. Though Dr Kim rarely showed overt warmth, there were moments when his care for his students shone through in the quiet, deliberate way he observed and guided them.

“Good morning, everyone,” he began, his voice steady and clear, cutting through the murmurs in the room. “As you’re aware, today’s session includes a quiz covering the material from the past nine weeks. The quiz will account for 10% of your semester grade. Before we begin, you’ll have ten minutes to review your notes. Use this time wisely.”

Harlo flipped open her notebook as the room erupted into the sound of pages turning and pens scratching. Her notes, carefully organised with colour-coded highlights and diagrams, were a small comfort amidst the rising tension in her chest. She skimmed over key concepts - cellular adaptation, inflammation, and the mechanisms behind chronic diseases - reassuring herself that she had prepared thoroughly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Dr Kim scanning the room. His sharp gaze passed over the rows of students, assessing them with quiet precision. When his eyes landed on Harlo, they lingered for a beat longer than usual, a subtle but deliberate pause.

Her chest tightened under his gaze. It wasn’t scrutiny; it was something softer, quieter - almost a silent question. Are you okay?

Harlo gave a small nod, barely perceptible, and the faintest movement of her lips followed, a silent reassurance that she wasn’t entirely sure she believed. Dr Kim’s expression didn’t change, but something about his stance seemed to ease as he continued his circuit around the room.

“All right,” he announced, his voice pulling Harlo back into the present. “Time’s up. Please place your notes away. The quiz will now begin and will last forty-five minutes. Phones off and stowed in your bags. I will collect the quizzes at the end.”

The crisp sound of papers being distributed broke the stillness as Dr Kim moved methodically through the rows, handing each student their quiz. When the paper landed on her desk, Harlo took a steadying breath before scanning the questions.

Relief washed over her. The material was exactly what she’d prepared for. Each question - on cellular changes, inflammatory responses, and pathological mechanisms - felt manageable, almost familiar. Her pen glided across the paper as she worked through each problem, her focus sharpening with every answer.

The steady rhythm of the quiz pulled her completely into the present. For forty-five minutes, the tightness in her chest eased, replaced by the satisfying challenge of recalling information and applying it. The distraction was a welcome reprieve, allowing her mind to settle into the structured demands of the task.

When Dr Kim called time, Harlo placed her pen down with a small exhale. She glanced over her work, ensuring every question was answered before stacking her papers neatly. As he moved through the rows collecting quizzes, Harlo noticed how carefully he handled each paper, his expression unreadable but purposeful.

When he reached her desk, he paused, leaning down slightly so only she could hear. “Harlo,” he said quietly, his tone gentle but firm. “Would you like to talk after class?”

The question didn’t surprise her. Dr Kim had been a steady source of support throughout her first year, especially when the memories of her childhood in Anseong loomed larger in her mind. Back then, her routines had been far less sustainable - weeks of little to no sleep punctuated by all-nighters, missed meals, and an unrelenting drive to keep herself distracted. During that time, his consistent offers to check in after class had become a lifeline. She had taken him up on them regularly, finding his quiet, non-judgemental presence grounding.

Though her routines were more balanced now, his question still carried that same steadying weight. She met his gaze and shook her head softly, her voice low but firm. “Thank you, Dr Kim, but I feel better now.”

He studied her for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly before he nodded. “All right. Let me know if that changes.”

Harlo offered him a small, grateful smile as he moved on. By the time class was dismissed, she felt lighter - her earlier doubts replaced by the steady comfort of having accomplished something concrete.

–

At 9:25am Harlo’s Pathophysiology class came to an end, and she carefully packed her materials back into her rucksack. Her movements were methodical, as though packing her bag in the same way was part of a ritual that grounded her. The quiz had gone well - but a subtle nervous energy lingered in her chest, and the thought of navigating the bustling corridors to her next class did little to erase it.

The walk to her Foundations of Pharmacy Care class wasn’t a short one. The building was on the opposite side of campus, and she knew all too well how crowded the connecting corridors became at the time of day. Students swarmed the hallways like schools of fish, darting to and from classes with practiced efficiency. The sounds of dozens of conversations layered over the echoing footsteps created a chaotic symphony that always set her teeth on edge.

Harlo adjusted the strap of her rucksack, her fingers curling tightly around the worn material as though the simple act of holding onto something steady could anchor her in the sea of noise and motion. Her heart rate quickened as she approached the first bottleneck of students gathered near the main staircase. The close proximity of so many people made the air feel thinner, and the rise of voices seemed to press in on her from all sides.

Large crowds had never been easy for her. Back in her first year, freshly moved from Anseong, the busy corridors of campus had been nearly unbearable. Anseong, though far from idyllic, had been a quiet town where life moved slowly. The clamour and commotion of Seoul were jarring, and Harlo still struggled to adjust. She could still remember her first few weeks at the university - walking into these same crowded halls, her breath catching in her chest, her hands shaking as she tried to navigate through the throng.

In those early days, she had often frozen at the edge of the busiest corridors, unable to will herself forward. It wasn’t just the sheer number of people; it was the unpredictability of it all - the way someone might bump into her without warning or stop abruptly in front of her. She would stand there, her mind racing with panic, before eventually finding the courage to take the long way around, adding precious minutes to her commute.

Even now, as a second-year student, there were moments when the corridors still tested her resolve. Harlo pressed forward, keeping her head down and her eyes trained on the polished floor tiles. She focused on the rhythm of her breathing and the steady thud of her boots against the floor, grounding herself with every step.  

One more class. Just get through this, and then you can go to the cafe.

The thought of the cafe - a quiet refuge where she could lose herself in her studies - was like a beacon, pulling her forward. She could already picture her usual tale in the far corner, the comforting ritual of opening her laptop and diving into her work. The promise of solitude over the weekend added another layer of reassurance, a reminder that this overwhelming rush of people was only temporary.

By the time she neared the lecture hall, the noise of the corridors began to fade, replaced by the quieter shuffle of students filtering into their respective classrooms. Harlo’s grip on her rucksack loosened slightly, her shoulders relaxing as she stepped into the familiar space,

It was 9:40am, leaving her five minutes to find her seat and settle in. The room was bright and modern, with rows of desks arranged in a semi-circle that offered a clear view of the front. Harlo took her usual seat near the middle, a seat close enough to the podium to keep her engaged but far enough back to feel unobtrusive.

She placed her rucksack on the floor and pulled out her notebook, pen, and the neatly stapled extra-credit assignment she’d completed the night before. The assignment had been a challenging but rewarding exercise in problem-solving, requiring her to think critically about patient-centered care and medication adherence. The ideas she’d outlined - education, reminders, managing side effects - were concepts she felt confident discussing after her hours of preparation. 

At exactly 9:45am, the door to the lecture hall swung open, and Dr Min Joo entered with her characteristic energy. A petite woman in her late thirties, she moved with a briskness that hinted at her sharp mind and efficiency. Dressed in a crisp white blouse tucked into high-waisted trousers, with glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, she exuded an air of professional enthusiasm. 

“Good morning, everyone!” she greeted, her voice bright but professional. “I hope you’ve had your coffee - or whatever gets you through these early hours - because today we’re diving deep into medication adherence and advanced patient-centered strategies. This isn’t going to be a surface-level review. I want you to think critically and connect the dots between pharmacological knowledge and patient care.”

She placed her laptop on the podium, the click of her heels against the tile punctuating the soft murmurs in the room as students prepared themselves. Dr Min had built a reputation as a demanding but engaging professor. She didn’t simply deliver material; she interrogated it, challenging her students to move beyond memorisation and into the realm of practical application.

As the lecture began, the title slide of her presentation displayed in bold text: “Complex Patient Scenarios: Addressing Multifactorial Non-Adherence.”

“All right,” Dr Min began, pacing slightly as she spoke. “Let’s start by considering a patient with hypertension. Simple enough, right? But now let’s complicate it. This patient has comorbid diabetes and chronic kidney disease. They’re prescribed six different medications, including an ACE inhibitor, a beta blocker, insulin, and metformin.” She paused, letting the complexity of the scenario sink in. “They’re reporting fatigue and nausea, and they’ve admitted to skipping dosages - not because they don’t care about their health, but because they’re overwhelmed. Where do we even begin with a case like this.”

The room was silent for a moment as students processed the question. Harlo’s pen hovered over her notebook, her mind already forming a response.

“This is a patient-centered care question,” Dr Min continued, leaning slightly on the podium. “What’s our first step? Is it education? Adjusting the medication? Simplifying the regimen? And how do we prioritise when every symptom and side effect seems equally important?”

Dr Min looked around the room expectantly. A few hands hesitated in the air. She called on a student in the front row, who suggested simplifying the regimen.

“Good,” Dr Min said, nodding. “”Simplification is often key. But –” she pointed to the slide projected behind her, which now displayed a chart of potential medication interactions– “what happens when simplifying one area exacerbates another? For instance, if we adjust the beta blocker dosage to reduce fatigue, what impact might that have on their blood pressure control or their kidney function?”

Harlo scribbled notes furiously, her thoughts racing. She appreciated Dr Min’s approach, which required them to think not just as pharmacists but as problem solvers, balancing scientific precision with human complexity. 

Dr Min’s next slide displayed a decision tree, branching paths illustrating potential interventions and their cascading effects.

“This is where pharmacokinetics and pharmacodynamics come into play,” she said, gesturing to the screen. “Understanding how these drugs interact - not just with the body but with each other - is critical. And don’t forget the patient’s perspective. How do we explain these adjustments to someone who’s already feeling overwhelmed? What tools can we give them to take control of their care without feeling like they’re drowning in instructions?” 

The discussion shifted to practical strategies, including motivational interviewing techniques, the role of pill organisers, and integrating technology like reminder apps and remote monitoring devices. Dr Min shared a case study from her own experience as a clinical pharmacist, detailing how she worked with a similar patient to develop a tailored plan that balanced efficacy with simplicity.

As the lecture progressed, Dr Min’s questions grew more complex, challenging the class to think about ethical considerations.

“What if the patient can’t afford one of these medications? How do we address financial barriers without compromising care? What are your responsibilities as a pharmacist in situations where systemic issues - like access and cost - intersect with patient care?”

Harlo’s pen moved swiftly, her notebook filling with notes and annotations. The material was dense and demanding, but it resonated with her deeply. These were the kinds of real-world problems she had envisioned tackling when she chose to study pharmacy.

Dr Min didn’t let her students sit passively. About halfway through the lecture, she introduced an interactive exercise. “Split into pairs and analyse the case study on the handout I’ve just distributed,” she instructed. “I want you to identify three potential interventions and their pros and cons. Be prepared to share your reasoning.”

Harlo paired up with a fellow student and dove into the exercise, her mind working quickly as they debated potential solutions. The exercise reinforced the lecture’s concepts, pushing her to apply theoretical knowledge to a practical scenario.

By the time the lecture wrapped up at 10:40am, Harlo felt mentally spent but accomplished. She lingered at her seat, waiting for the room to clear before approaching the podium with her extra-credit assignment in hand.

“Ah, Harlo,” Dr Min said as she noticed her approach. Her tone was warm but brisk, reflecting her no-nonsense demeanour. “You’re handing in the extra-credit, I assume?”

“Yes, Dr Min,” Harlo replied, holding out the neatly stapled pages. “I found it really interesting, especially after today’s lecture.”

Dr Min’s brow lifted slightly as she accepted the assignment. “Good to hear. I know it was a challenging one, but I trust you’ve done well.” She glanced at the first page, skimming briefly before giving an approving nod. “Thank you, Harlo. You’re always one of my most reliable students.”

“Thank you,” Harlo said softly, feeling a faint warmth at the praise.

As she turned to leave, she felt a renewed sense of focus. The promise of her favourite cafe - a quiet sanctuary where she could immerse herself in work - beckoned, providing a welcome anchor for the rest of her day.  

–

As Harlo stepped out of the lecture hall, the brisk morning air greeted her with a sharpness that nipped at her cheeks and nose. She paused for a moment at the top of the stairs, letting her eyes flicker over the courtyard below. The energy of the university was palpable, with students hurrying between buildings, their chatter and laughter creating a scattered symphony of sound.

Harlo tightened the strap of her rucksack over her shoulder, her fingers brushing the fabric almost absentmindedly. She could feel the weight of her textbooks, notebooks, and laptop pressing against her back, a comforting heaviness that grounded her amidst the swirling noise of the outside world.

Her destination wasn’t far, but it might as well have been on another planet. The cafe - a small, familiar refuge - called to her, offering solace in its soft, worn chairs and the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee that always lingered in the air. It was the one place where her mind could find clarity, where the chaos of her thoughts could be neatly redirected into the structure of her work.

The walk to the cafe was automatic, the route ingrained in her memory after a couple years of repetition. The crisp air sharpened her senses, and the sounds of the city - cars rumbling in the distance, the occasional bark of a dog, snippets of conversations - drifted around her like an ambient melody. Harlo tucked her hands into her coat pockets, her fingers brushing against the edges of her gloves. She wasn’t wearing them today, though the cold bit at her skin, the discomfort oddly oddly grounding.

Her thoughts swirled as she walked, lingering briefly on the quiz she had just completed and the wave of relief that had washed over her as she handed in the paper. But it didn’t last long. Her mind kept pulling back to the blurry flashbacks from earlier, their edges vague but sharp enough to unnerve her. The weight of them settled low in her chest, a heaviness she couldn’t quite shake.

When the cafe finally came into view, Harlo exhaled, her shoulders relaxing slightly. She crossed the street with a purposeful stride, pushing open the door to be greeted by the soft chime of the bell above. Warmth enveloped her immediately, carrying with it the familiar scent of coffee and pastries.

The space was just as she remembered it - small, cosy and unassuming. A handful of patrons were scattered across the tables, their quiet conversations blending seamlessly with the soothing hum of the espresso machine. Harlo’s eyes farted toward her usual table in the corner, and she felt a small wave of relief when she saw the reserved sign sitting neatly on its surface.

“Good morning, Harlo,” the barista called from behind the counter, her voice warm and familiar.

“Morning,” Harlo replied softly, offering a faint smile as she approached.

“The usual?”

“Yes, please.”

The barista, who Harlo now realised was Haley, began preparing for her order - two large red-eyes with double shots of espresso. While waiting, Harlo leaned slightly against the counter, exchanging a few pleasantries about the chill in the air and how the cafe seemed quieter than usual. Haley’s cheerful demeanour was a small comfort, though Harlo’s responses were brief, her mind already drifting toward the work she planned to tackle.

When the drinks were ready, Harlo carefully took them, murmuring a quiet “thank you” before heading to her table. The far corner of the cafe felt like a world away from the bustling streets outside, its worn wooden surface and slightly wobbly chair offering a sense of familiarity that was almost soothing.

Placing the drinks down first, Harlo slipped off her rucksack and draped it over the back of one of the chairs. She began unpacking with precision, each item finding its designated spot: laptop in the centre, notebook stacked neatly to the side, textbooks opened to the necessary pages, and her pencil case within easy reach. The ritual of setting up was almost meditative, a small way to impose order on her surroundings. 

Settling into the seat opposite her bag, Harlo took a long sip of one of her red-eyes. The strong, bitter taste jolted her senses, a welcome reprieve from the sluggishness that had clung to her all morning. 

–

Harlo opened her laptop and immediately navigated to her course’s online portal. The screen flickered momentarily as she clicked on the assignment for Leadership in Pharmacy . The instructions were straightforward: analyse how effective leadership styles could improve patient outcomes in a hospital setting, while considering the operational complexities that pharmacists often face.

Smoothing out a crease in her notebook, Harlo took a steadying breath. Leadership wasn’t just about delegation or authority; it was about influence, vision, and building trust - concepts she’d learned to appreciate through her classes with Professor Lee, a man known for his sharp, analytical approach and no-nonsense demeanour. Unlike Dr Min, who often emphasised interpersonal skills and emotional intelligence, or Dr Kim, whose servant leadership approach Harlo found comforting, Professor Lee approached leadership as a discipline, almost a science. He had a knack for dissecting abstract ideas into actionable strategies, and his lectures often felt like seminars for executives rather than students.

Adjusting her posture, Harlo began crafting her response. For the first thirty minutes, her focus remained laser-sharp as she tackled the assignment, breaking it down section by section.

The first part of the prompt asked her to evaluate three key leadership styles - transformational, transactional, and servant leadership - and their relevance to pharmacy practice. Harlo’s pen moved quickly across the page as she wrote, each sentence building upon the knowledge she’d gained over the semester. She referenced Professor Lee’s lecture from two week ago, where he’d explained the significance of transformational leadership in driving innovation within pharmacy teams:

Transformational leaders are instrumental in fostering a collaborative environment and motivating their teams to embrace change. Within a hospital pharmacy, this approach ensures adaptability, which is crucial in managing complex patient care scenarios.

From there, she shifted to transactional leadership, defining it as a performance-drive style that emphasised structure and efficiency. She noted its utility in high-pressure environments like hospitals, though she also highlighted its limitations:

While transactional leadership is effective in maintaining order and achieving short-term goals, it often falls short in promoting long-term innovation or addressing the nuanced needs of a diverse pharmacy team.

Lastly, Harlo examined servant leadership, a style she found particularly resonant. Reflecting on her own experience working under collaborative and empathetic mentors like Dr Kim, she wrote:

Servant leadership prioritises the well-being of the team and patients, creating an environment where employees feel valued and supported. In a pharmacy setting, this can translate better patient outcomes and a more cohesive work culture.

For the second part of the assignment, Harlo drew upon an example from one of Professor Lee’s lectures, where he had recounted a leadership challenge he’d faced during his first year clinical rotation: a delay in medication delivery caused by poor communication between pharmacy staff and attending physicians. She outlined how effective leadership could have mitigated the issue:

Clear delegation, consistent follow-ups, and open communication channels would have resolved the delay and ensured patient safety. Leadership in pharmacy is not just about managing tasks; it’s about creating a system where mistakes are less likely to happen in the first place.

By the time she finished the assignment, thirty minutes had passed, and Harlo felt a sense of accomplishment as she saved her work.

With the assignment complete, she moved on to creating review mind maps - a method she’d come to rely on heavily in her studies. She flipped open her notebook to a fresh page, reaching for her coloured pens. Organising her thoughts visually always helped her retain information more effectively, and with this being week nine of the semester, she wanted to consolidate everything she’d learned so far.

Starting with a central bubble labeled Leadership in Pharmacy , Harlo branched out into subtopics: Leadership Styles, Team Dynamics, Conflict Resolution, and Ethical Decision-Making . Under each category, she added key details from previous lectures.

For Leadership Styles , she wrote down succinct definitions and examples for transformational, transactional and servant leadership. For Team Dynamics , she added notes from Professor Lee’s earlier lecture on building trust within multidisciplinary teams:

“Trust is the cornerstone of effective teamwork. Without it, even the best laid plans are likely to crumble.”

Under Conflict Resolution , she jotted down steps for mediating disputes between pharmacy staff, a topic Professor Lee had tied closely to emotional intelligence - a surprising departure from his usual analytical focus.

Harlo worked methodically, her pen gliding across the page as she drew arrows, underlined key points, and added annotations. She appreciated how Professor Lee’s lectures balanced the theoretical with the practical, giving her concrete strategies she could envision applying in the real world.

By the time she finished her mind maps, the hour had flown by. Harlo leaned back in her chair, taking a sip from her coffee. The bitterness grounded her as she glanced over her notes. While there was still much to review, she felt more prepared for the weeks ahead.

The sense of clarity she gained from the exercise left her feeling ready to tackle the next subject. With a satisfied sigh, Harlo closed her notebook and prepared for hour two. 

Harlo took another sip of her coffee, savouring the brief jolt of energy it provided, before pulling out her materials for her Hospital Practice Management class. This was one of her more demanding courses, focusing on the operational and administrative aspects of running a hospital pharmacy. She had an assignment due next week and wanted to use this hour to make significant progress.

The assignment tasked students with analysing the workflow efficiency of a hypothetical hospital pharmacy, identifying key bottlenecks, and proposing practical solutions to improve patient outcomes. The scenario described a mid-sized hospital with high patient turnover and frequent communication issues between the pharmacy and clinical teams.

Harlo opened her laptop, navigating to the assignment brief as she spread out her notes and relevant readings across the table. She reached for her notebook, flipping to the section where she had sketched a preliminary flowchart of the hospital’s current medication dispensing process. The visual outline helped her organise her thoughts, breaking down the steps from prescription entry to medication delivery.

The first step was to review the main bottlenecks identified in the case study:

• 1. Prescription Verification Delays: The pharmacy staff struggled to keep up with the volume of prescriptions during peak hours, causing delays in verifying prescriptions for accuracy and safety.
• 2. Stock Management Issues: Essential medications often ran out due to poor inventory management, leading to frequent interruptions in patient care.
• 3. Communication Breakdowns: Miscommunication between the pharmacy and medical staff led to errors in medication timing and dosages.

Harlo decided to tackle the first issue, prescription verification, by proposing the implementation of automated dispensing systems. She typed up a detailed response, highlighting the benefits of technology in reducing manual errors and streamlining repetitive tasks:

“Automated dispensing systems can significantly reduce verification delays by handling routine prescriptions with minimal pharmacist oversight, allowing pharmacists to focus on complex cases. These systems have been shown to cut processing times by up to 40%, improving efficiency during peak hours.”

Next, she moved on to stock management. Drawing from the lecture slides and assigned readings, Harlo crafted a response emphasising the importance of real-time inventory tracking. Drawing from a critical reading she had studied earlier in the semester, which detailed the operational failures of a hospital pharmacy during a high stakes emergency, Harlo wrote:

“Integrating real-time inventory management software can prevent stock shortages by providing alerts when supplies run low. Additionally, conducting weekly inventory audits can ensure accuracy and preparedness for high-demand periods.”

For the communication breakdowns, Harlo referenced a textbook example of interdisciplinary huddles - short, focused meetings between pharmacists, nurses, and doctors to align on patient care plans. These huddles could bridge the gap between the pharmacy and clinical teams, fostering better collaboration and reducing errors. Harlo made a note to research more studies on their effectiveness later, but for now, she added a concise response:

“Introducing interdisciplinary huddles at the start of each shift would promote clear communication, ensuring that all teams are aligned on medication schedules and any potential changes in medical care.”

She paused to review her progress, her pen tapping lightly against her notebook. While the case study was fictional, the problems it presented mirrored real-world challenges that pharmacists faced everyday. It was a reminder of the complexity and responsibility inherent in the profession, pushing her to think critically and approach solutions with care.

The final section of the assignment asked for a proposed timeline to implement these changes. Harlo glanced at her watch, realising she only had fifteen minutes left in the hour. She quickly drafted a step-by-step timeline, diving the implementation process into three phases:

• Phase 1 (Month 1-3): Install automated dispensing systems and train staff.
• Phase 2 (Month 4-6): Roll out real-time inventory tracking software and conduct initial audits.
• Phase 3 (Month 7-9): Introduce interdisciplinary huddles and evaluate the overall impact of the changes through staff feedback and patient outcome metrics.

Harlo leaned back in her chair, a sense of accomplishment settling over her as she took another few sips of coffee. Her draft was complete - solid, though still in need of some polishing - but the foundation was strong. As her alarm chimed softly, marking the end of the hour, she closed her laptop and carefully organised her notes and assignments into their respective folders. With everything in its place, she felt ready to switch gears.

Her third hour would be dedicated to Introduction to Research, the only one of her pharmacy classes conducted entirely online. Unlike her in-person courses, where lectures, labs, and discussions added an interactive element, this subject demanded self-discipline and a meticulous approach to independent learning. Harlo appreciated that Professor Choi, who oversaw the course, didn’t require work to be handed in on the same day it was assigned. Instead, he offered a flexible deadline - end-of-week submission - allowing students the freedom to integrate the material into their schedules in a way that worked best for them. The lack of immediate pressure made the course feel less overwhelming, though it required careful time management 

She opened her laptop again, logging into the course portal and navigating to the week nine module. The content for this week focused on research methodologies, particularly the distinction between quantitative and qualitative approaches, and their application to pharmaceutical studies. Harlo pulled out her notebook dedicated to this course, flipping through the pages of meticulously written summaries and diagrams.

The first task she set herself was a review of the lecture slides from earlier in the week. The slides explored examples of quantitative studies, such as clinical trials evaluating drug efficacy, and qualitative studies, like interviews conducted to understand patient perspectives on medication adherence. Harlo jotted down key points in her notes:

• Quantitative Research: Structured, data-driven, often involving measurable outcomes like dosage efficacy, patient survival rates, or side effect occurrences.
• Qualitative Research: Exploratory, focusing on subjective experiences and insights, such as interviews or focus groups with patients or healthcare providers.

As she reviewed, Harlo pulled out her coloured pens and began crafting comparison tables, dividing the page into two columns to better visualise the differences. On one side, she listed the advantages of quantitative research - its precision, replicability, and ability to produce statistically significant data. On the other, she detailed the strengths of qualitative research, particularly its ability to capture nuanced, human-centred insights often missed in numerical analysis.

Satisfied with her summaries, she moved on to a more interactive task: applying these methodologies to hypothetical scenarios. The course portal provided several case studies, one of which described a hospital implementing a new drug delivery system. Harlo analysed how she might approach the research from both perspectives:

• Quantitative Focus: Measure reductions in medication errors and improvements in delivery times after the new system’s implementation.
• Qualitative Focus: Conduct interviews with pharmacists and nurses to understand their experiences using the system and any challenges they faced.

The exercise was engaging, drawing her deeper into the complexities of research design. Harlo couldn’t help but think back to how much she struggled with this course during her first semester. The terminology, the statistical jargon, the sheer scope of it all - it had overwhelmed her at first. But now, halfway through the second semester, she felt a growing sense of confidence in her ability to grasp and apply the concepts.

To round out the hour, Harlo returned to the course’s discussion board. Professor Choi, who oversaw the class, encouraged weekly participation as a way to reinforce learning. This week’s prompt asked students to reflect on the challenges of conducting mixed-methods research - studies that combined both qualitative and quantitative approaches.

Harlo typed out a brief but thoughtful response: “Mixed-methods research offers a comprehensive view by balancing statistical precision with human-centred insights, but its complexity lies in integrating these two approaches seamlessly. For example, in a hospital setting, combining patient satisfaction surveys (quantitative) with in-depth interviews (qualitative) can provide a fuller understanding of care quality, but aligning the findings into a cohesive narrative requires careful planning and interpretation.”

After submitting her response, she scrolled through a few of her classmates’ posts, noting similarities and differences in their perspectives. It was a useful exercise, one that reminded her of the collaborative nature of research, even in an online environment.

By the time the hour ended, Harlo felt a quiet sense of accomplishment. Though the material was dense, the structure of her study session and the clarity of her notes made her feel as though she had made tangible progress. She leaned back in her chair, taking another sip of her now slightly cold coffee, letting herself pause before transitioning to her final subject.

Harlo stretched her fingers before opening her laptop again, ready to continue the work she had started yesterday night. Yesterday’s session had been building on the foundations she had carefully crafted on Monday night, where she had spent four focused hours refining the core of her individual music production practice proposal. Now, in the fourth hour of her study session, she was determined to keep the momentum going and dive into her project.

Though the transition from the structured rigour of pharmacy school to the creative, theory-heavy world of music production was stark, it was also refreshing. The class, now in its ninth week of the sixteen-week semester, remained one of her favourites. It challenged her to think critically about the music industry, exploring its cultural, technological, and artistic intricacies.

Her project centred on how cultural and personal identities shaped production practices, with case studies on Brian Eno, Suga (Agust D), and Peggy Gou. It was an ambitious endeavour, but her weeks of planning and research gave her confidence in its direction. Logging into the class portal, Harlo navigated to her files and notes, where she had left off the day before.

Her first task was to refine the methodology section, which formed the backbone of her proposal. Comparative analysis was at the core of her approach, and Harlo carefully reread the outline she had expanded on both Monday and yesterday. She adjusted some phrasing and added clarifying details to ensure her methods were clear and precise.

She took a sip from her red-eye coffee, the bold, bitter flavour grounding her in the task ahead, before pulling out a fresh sheet of paper. She sketched a mindmap to visualise the methodology’s components. In the centre, she wrote Cultural Identity in Music Production, branching out into subcategories like instrumentation, lyrical influences, and studio practices. Using coloured pens, she highlighted connections between these categories and her chosen case studies, creating an intricate web of ideas.

Her comparative analysis included specific methods:

• Analysing interviews and public statements where the producers discussed their creative process.
• Identifying recurring themes in their music, such as rhythmic patterns or the use of traditional instruments.
• Examining their studio environments, tools, and collaborative choices, noting how these reflected their cultural or personal identities. 

Harlo paused, taking another sip of coffee before revising her notes on each point, ensuring her methodology aligned with her research goals. The visual layout helped her spot gaps, which she quickly filled in, making the section feel more complete and cohesive.

Satisfied with her methodology updates, Harlo turned to her case studies, where the heart of her proposal lay. These analyses weren’t only the most engaging part of the project but also the most demanding. She wanted to ensure that each producer’s work was explored with depth and nuance.

Her first task was to expand on Peggy Gou, whose unique sound combined Korean traditional music with global electronic beats. Yesterday, Harlo had started analysing “Starry Night,” noting the subtle nods to Korean folk music through pentatonic scales and percussion. Today, she wanted to explore Gou’s creative philosophy in more depth. 

Opening a transcript of one of Gou’s interviews, Harlo scanned for insights about her approach to production. One quote stood out:

“For me, music is a way to connect my heritage with the world. I don’t want to lose touch with where I come from, but I also want to innovate and explore.”

She integrated the quote into her analysis, taking a long sip of coffee as she typed.

“Peggy Gou’s ability to merge Berlin’s minimalist techno with elements of Korean folk music demonstrates the fluidity of identity in modern production. Tracks like ‘Starry Night’ reflect how her cultural roots and global experiences shape her soundscapes, offering a compelling example of the intersection between tradition and innovation.”

Next, she revisited her section on Brian Eno, whose pioneering work in ambient music had always fascinated her. Eno’s approach, blending non-Western influences with generative music techniques, provided a sharp contrast to Gou’s rhythm-drivens sound. Harlo added to her earlier notes, focusing on how Eno’s background in visual arts informed his experimental methods:

“Eno’s ambient compositions challenge conventional structures, drawing on his visual arts training to create immersive soundscapes. His incorporation of generative techniques reflects a philosophy that prioritises process over outcome, making his work a pivotal study in the relationship between identity and production.”

Finally, Harlo turned to Suga (Agust D). She had already written about his use of traditional Korean instruments like the gayageum in “Daechwita” and his skill in blending modern hip-hop with historical motifs. Today, she expanded on his ability to tell deeply personal stories through his production choices:

“Suga’s ‘Daechwita’ is a masterclass in integrating historical narrative with modern sound. His use of traditional Korean elements alongside aggressive trap beats mirrors his exploration of identity - bridging his personal story with his cultural heritage in a way that resonates globally.” 

The deeper she delved into the case studies, the more connections she found between her chosen producers. Each brought a unique perspective to the table, yet their work shared a common thread: the use of music to explore and express identity in a globalised context.

Feeling inspired by her case studies, Harlo returned to the introduction she had begun crafting yesterday night. She wanted to ensure her research question was clear and engaging, setting the tone for the entire proposal. Typing carefully, she refined her opening:

“How do cultural and personal identities influence music production in an increasingly globalised industry? By examining the works of Brian Eno, Suga (Agust D), and Peggy Gou, this research seeks to uncover the ways in which heritage, innovation, and creative decisions intersect to shape modern soundscapes.”

Pausing, Harlo took another drink of her coffee, letting the caffeine sharpen her focus as she quietly read the paragraph aloud. She tweaked the phrasing to improve its flow, then added transitional sentences to connect the introduction to the methodology section. The words felt purposeful, and she could see her proposal taking shape in a way that excited her.

The hour flew by as Harlo worked, her coffee dwindling with each sip as she immersed herself in the project. By the time she glanced at the clock, the cafe had grown busier, the hum of voices blending with the clatter of coffee cups. She leaned back in her chair, savouring the last drops of her now cold coffee.

The structured nature of her study session had kept her focused, and the progress she made left her feeling accomplished. Though the project was far from finished, Harlo felt proud of the strides she had taken this week. As she packed up her rucksack, she felt the weight of the unusually long four hours she had spent studying. She was used to running on very little sleep, her body accustomed to pushing itself through the exhaustion, but recently, something was different. The last couple of days had felt harder, and the fatigue seemed to settle more heavily in her bones. It scared her slightly, this new sensation of being worn thin, and for the first time in a long while, Harlo wondered just how much longer she could keep this pace.

Her coffees, usually enough to fuel her through the day, had gone down quicker than unusual - both finished within three hours. Needing another burst of energy to get her through the last stretch, she ordered a third, deciding to push herself a little further. While she waited for her coffee to be made, she tried to focus on her work again, finishing the last few notes for the day. The weight of it all was becoming palpable now that she had completed the major parts of her task.

Once she’d packed everything into her rucksack, double-checking she had all her materials, Harlo glanced out the window of the cafe. The grey, overcast skies of Seoul stretched out before her, but at least it wasn’t raining. That, at least, was a small relief. The weather forecast hadn’t predicted rain, but Harlo had learned to be wary of Seoul’s unpredictable patterns. She’d been caught in downpours more times than she could count, so when it was dry, she was always thankful.

With a small sigh, she slipped her coat on, gathered her rucksack, and took the final sip of her coffee before heading to the counter. She handed her empty cup to the barista, gave a soft thank you, and grabbed the fresh coffee. Taking the cup in hand, she stepped into the bustling streets of Seoul, bracing herself for the crowds that she knew would greet her outside. Her anxiety, which had been simmering since her early morning, still lingered. She could feel it tightening around her chest, threatening to weigh her down.

“Just one step at a time,” she whispered to herself, repeating the comforting mantra that usually helped. With the grocery store only a short walk away, she told herself she could do it. There was just the walk to the shop, the errand itself, and then the trek back home. An hour’s work, and then she could retreat back into her apartment - back to safety. It was the thought of that comforting solitude that kept her going.

The walk from the cafe to the grocery store was always the same: a slow but steady journey through the winding streets of Seoul. She passed by the usual busy intersections where cars honked and pedestrians zipped across, each person carrying with them their own set of daily worries. The tall glass-and-steel buildings stood like sentinels, their reflective surfaces capturing the movements of the people below. There was the usual mix of the city’s noise - people laughing, the hum of electric buses, the occasional street vendor calling out to passersby.

As she made her way through the bustling streets, Harl passed the same cafe-lined sidewalks, the scents of freshly baked bread and brewing coffee following her, tempting her to take a break. But she pushed through, keeping her eyes focused ahead, knowing what she needed to do. It was only when she reached the quieter, slightly less crowded side street leading to the grocery store that she began to relax. There was something soothing about the familiar routine of this part of her day - the rhythmic steps, the sound of her shoes against the concrete, and the predictable flow of her thoughts. 

She arrived at the store and looked through the large glass doors, briefly pausing to scan the aisles inside. Not too many people were shopping today, which was a relief. She could handle this, just a quick in-and-out before heading back to her apartment. 

Harlo grabbed a basket from the stand by the door and began making her way through the aisles. She picked up several packs of ramen, enough to last her through the week, reaching for her usual favourite brands without much thought. Next, she grabbed four bottles of pre-made espresso, one of the essentials that kept her going through long study sessions. She didn’t even mind the strong, bitter taste anymore; it has become a regular part of her routine. A large bag of freshly ground coffee beans caught her eye, and she added it to her basket along with a second, larger bag of whole beans to grind herself when she needed a fresh cup.

Her basket was already heavy with everything she needed - food and caffeine, her sustenance through the long day. She made her way to the counter and waited as the cashier rang up her items. ₩62,441.68 (roughly £40/$48), the total cost of the week’s essentials - ramen and coffee. It wasn’t a large amount, but it was always more than she wanted to spend. 

The discomfort wasn’t new; it clung to her like a faint shadow, one that she’d carried with her since her childhood in Anseong. Back then, every purchase was scrutinised, every expense weighed carefully against what little there was to go around. Though her circumstances had changed, the unease lingered, a quiet reminder of the frugality that had been ingrained in her from an early age.

With her bag of groceries in hand, Harlo stepped back out into the chilly Seoul air, feeling the weight of the bag and her rucksack on her shoulders. She glanced up to the sky as she made her way home, relieved that the rain hadn’t arrived yet.

The walk back home was always slower, the burden of her purchases making her movements more deliberate, but there was a comforting sense of accomplishment in having completed her errands. As she passed by the quieter parts of the neighbourhood, the sounds of the city became more muffled, and she began to relax, allowing the rhyme of her footsteps to calm her mind. The familiar voice of a civil engineering podcast played in her earphones, filling the silence with discussions about innovative designs and urban planning. Harlo appreciated the precision and creativity of engineering - it was a grounding subject, one that provided a welcome distraction from her thoughts.

By the time she reached her apartment building, she was more at ease. She pulled the heavy grocery bag from her shoulder and headed up the stairs. No elevators here - just the familiar climb up to the third floor, the same steps she’d taken hundreds of times before. But there was a strange sense of comfort in that routine, a kind of grounding that came from the predictability of her daily life. 

Once inside the apartment, Harlo dropped the bag by the door and took a moment to remove her shoes and jacket, placing them in their usual spots. The mundane actions were comforting - a reminder of how settled she’d become in the space, far from the chaos of her childhood in Anseong. 

After unpacking the groceries and placing the ramen and coffee in their proper spots, Harlo glanced at the clock. It was 4pm. When the soft chime of her alarm pulled her back from the quiet of her thoughts, signaling that it was 4pm, Harlo took a moment before pulling her phone from her pocket to silence it. It wasn’t until then, with the hum of the world fading into the background, that she realised how empty she truly felt. She hadn’t eaten all day - hadn’t even thought about food - and now, as her stomach finally made its voice known, it was as if it was reminding her that she was human, not a machine. She had been awake since 5:45am, running on nothing but caffeine and sheer will, and the realisation brought a wave of dizziness with it. Her hunger gnawed at her, sharp and insistent, and she understood that the absence of food had been a constant hum beneath everything else. 

An hour later, Harlo sat at her small kitchen table, a steaming hot coffee mug in one hand and a cold one in the other, her ramen bowl empty. She had eaten quickly, as she often did when she was caught in the rush of tasks, but the comfort of the food settled her. She washed the dishes by hand, each deliberate motion of her fingers in the warm water grounding her further. The rhythmic scrape of dish against sink filled the silence, and with each plate dried and stacked away, she could almost feel the tension in her body ease.

Finished with the dishes, Harlo padded into her bedroom, her feet quiet against the hardwood floors. She shut the door behind her, the familiar solitude of her room pulling her in like an embrace. The body shower she had been craving all day awaited her, and she adjusted the water to its hottest setting, hoping the steam would melt away the tightness that had crept into her muscles, the heaviness in her mind. The warmth enveloped her like a protective cocoon, and for a moment, she let herself be still. The water cascaded over her skin, soothing the weariness that had settled there, a soft sigh escaping her lips as the heat seeped into her bones.

After the shower, Harlo wrapped herself in a towel, feeling the softness of the fabric against her skin she pulled on a thick, oversized Pink Floyd long-sleeve t-shirt - black, soft from years of wear - and paired it with dark gray sweatpants and fluffy black socks. The routine of getting dressed felt like a comfort, a simple act that grounded her in the midst of the day’s whirl of activity. It was 5:30pm now, another alarm chiming in her ear, but the idea of slipping under the covers was distant. She couldn’t let herself.

Instead, Harlo walked over to her bed and sat at the edge of the covers, pausing for a moment. The weight of the day sat heavily on her shoulders, but she couldn’t afford to rest yet. She needed to keep moving, keep her schedule intact. Her body ached for sleep, but her mind fought the pull, unwilling to be derailed. She reached over and picked up The Brothers Karamazov , the pages worn from years of being flipped through, and began to read. Despite the familiarity of the book, the deep philosophical questions wrapped in its dense prose, it still captivated her. She let the rhythm of the text pull her in, her eyes tracing the lines as if it were the first time she’d read them.

The minutes passed without notice, time slipping through her fingers like sand. An hour drifted by, unnoticed, and the next thing Harlo knew, the sharp buzz of her alarm broke her from her immersion. It was 8:50pm. She hesitated before placing her bookmark in, the soft slip of paper against paper a quiet promise to return. Setting the book gently on the bedside table, Harlo exhaled slowly, the sense of urgency never quite leaving her, but the moment of peace in her room felt like a small victory.

Harlo pushed her duvet aside, exhaustion tugging at her muscles as she crossed the room to retrieve her rucksack from the sofa. Returning to her bed, she propped herself against the pillows, pulling her laptop onto her lap. Though she typically reserved her bed for rest, tonight, she needed the comfort it provided. The steady rhythm of her routine anchored her, and she exhaled slowly, reopening the file containing her music production practice proposal.

The flow of the screen illuminated her face as she reviewed where she had left off earlier during her earlier study session at the cafe. Her introduction and methodology paragraphs were beginning to take shape, but the work demanded deeper refinement. This project - centred on how cultural and personal identities shaped music production - was ambitious, yet it was also the kind of challenge Harlo thrived on.

To immerse herself, she opened several tabs in her browser: interviews with Brian Eno, Peggy Gou, and Suga (Agust D), alongside playlists of their songs. Slipping on her headphones, she let the ambient notes of Eno’s Music for Airports wash over her, the ethereal soundscapes softening the edges of her exhaustion. 

Her introduction needs only minor adjustments. She carefully reread her opening lines:

“How do cultural and personal identities influence music production in an increasingly globalised industry? By examining the works of Brian Eno, Suga (Agust D), and Peggy Gou, this research seeks to uncover the ways in which heritage, innovation, and creative decisions intersect to shape modern soundscapes.”

Satisfied with its clarity, she refined the transitions leading into her methodology section. She wanted the flow to be seamless, ensuring her readers could follow her thought process without interruption. 

Switching between interviews and songs, Harlo added depth to her methodology section:

“This research employs a comparative analysis of three artists’ works to explore how cultural identity influences production techniques. By examining public interviews, recurring musical themes, and studio practices, this study seeks to identify patterns that reveal the interplay between tradition and innovation in music production.”

When she reached Brian Eno’s case study, Harlo shifted the playlist to his ambient work, letting the meditative soundscapes guide her thoughts. She opened another video, where Eno discussed how his background in visual arts shaped his creative methods. His emphasis on the process over the outcome inspired Harlo as she wrote:

“Eno’s ambient compositions challenge conventional structures, drawing on his visual arts training to create immersive soundscapes. His use of generative techniques reflects a philosophy that prioritises fluidity and unpredictability, making his work a pivotal study in the relationship between identity and product.”

As the hours passed, Harlo alternated between listening, watching, and writing, her focus unwavering despite the late hour. She took occasional sips from her coffee, the biter warmth anchoring her as she refined her case studies. Her analysis of Peggy Gou now included additional insights about her Berlin studio setup, while her work on Suga expanded to highlight his ability to blend historical motifs with contemporary genres.  

At one point, she paused to rewatch a snippet of a Brian Eno interview, jotting down a quote about his use of space and texture in music:

“I like to think of sound as something you inhabit, like a room. Each sound has a place, and together they form an environment.”

She included this observation in her methodology, linking it to Eno’s broader creative ethos:

“Eno’s philosophy of sounds as a spatial environment provides a framework for understanding how his compositions transcend traditional structures. By placing equal emphasis on silence and sound, he creates immersive experiences that reflect his unique approach to production.”

With her methodology updates feeling complete, Harlo returned to the introduction to her case studies, which she had started earlier in the day. This paragraph was critical - it needed to establish the significance of her chosen artists while weaving together their distinct contributions to the field. She typed deliberately:

“The selected case studies - Brian Eno, Peggy Gou, and Suga (Agust D) - represent diverse approaches to integrating cultural identity into music production. Eno’s ambient works challenge traditional Western structures, blending generative techniques with non-linear soundscapes. Peggy Gou bridges Korean folk traditions with global electronic music, crafting tracks that resonate across cultures. Suga, through his fusion of traditional Korean instruments and modern hip-hop, creates a unique sound that reflects both personal and national identity. Together, these artists exemplify the myriad ways cultural and personal histories shape production practices in a globalised industry.”

Harlo leaned back, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she reread the paragraph aloud. The connections she drew felt clearer, but she added a few more transitional phrases to ensure the flow was seamless. 

Switching to her first case study on Peggy Gou, Harlo worked to deepen her analysis. She played It Makes You Forget (Itgehane) , the soft, hypnotic beats creating the perfect backdrop for her writing. Pulling up another interview, she highlighted a passage where Gou discussed her use of traditional Korean instruments:

“For me, bringing these sounds into electronic music is about showing that our heritage has a place in the future of music.”

Harlo integrated the quote, her words weaving a narrative that underscored Gou’s role as a cultural bridge:

“Peggy Gou’s ability to merge Berlin’s minimalist techno with elements of Korean folk music demonstrates the fluidity of identity in modern production. Tracks like Starry Night and It Makes You Forget reflect how her cultural roots and global experiences shape her soundscapes, offering a compelling example of the intersection between tradition and innovation. 

Harlo paused, letting the lingering notes of It Makes You Forget fade into the background as she reread her analysis. She wanted to make sure it captured not only Gou’s technical brilliance but also the deeper cultural resonance of her music. Satisfied with her progress, she shifted her focus to Brian Eno’s section, her playlist looping back to his Apollo: Atmospheres and Soundtracks . The ethereal layers of sound seemed to blur the edges of time, creating the perfect mental space for her next paragraph. 

Returning to her notes on Eno’s ambient work, Harlo expanded her exploration of his use of generative techniques. Opening a video of Eno speaking at a 2015 conference, she jotted down another quote that struck her:

“Ambient music must be as ignorable as it is interesting.”

Inspired by his philosophy, Harlo refined her paragraph on Eno’s contribution to the study:

“Brian Eno’s ambient compositions redefine the boundaries of music, creating auditory environments that balance engagement and detachment. His use of generative techniques - a process that introduces controlled randomness into the composition - mirrors his artistic ethos, emphasising the journey over the destination. Eno’s work serves as a study in how personal philosophy and interdisciplinary influences can shape production practices.”

Taking a sip of her now lukewarm coffee, Harlo shifted seamlessly into her work on Suga’s case study. She adjusted her playlist once again, the powerful rhythm of Daechwita filling her ears as she opened the accompanying music video for inspiration. The bold contrast between the regal traditional imagery and the modern trap beats reignited her appreciation for Suga’s narrative depth. 

Harlo typed with purpose, weaving in her earlier notes and enhancing them with details from her analysis:

“Suga’s Daechwita is a masterclass in storytelling through sound, seamlessly blending the traditional and the contemporary. The use of the gayageum and the taepyeongso, both integral to Korean musical history, juxtaposes aggressive trap beats to create a sonic landscape that bridges past and present. This dynamic interplay mirrors Suga’s personal narrative, exploring themes of power, identity and resilience. His work exemplifies how cultural identity can be both a creative tool and a lens through which broader social narratives are expressed.”

Harlo glanced at her notes, ensuring she had fully articulated the significance of Suga’s production style before saving her work. She leaned back, stretching her arms overhead before scrolling through her now neatly organised sections. Each case study was beginning to take on its own rhythm and depth, yet they all aligned with the central theme of her research. 

The final task of the night was refining the transitions between the sections. Her goal was to create a seamless thread connecting the artists’ distinct approaches while highlighting their shared emphasis on cultural identity. As she wrote, Harlo’s fingers danced over the keys:

“From Eno’s meditative soundscapes to Gou’s cross-cultural electronica and Suga’s fusion of historical and contemporary motifs, these case studies illuminate the ways personal and cultural histories shape modern music production. Together, they reflect the evolving interplay between innovation and heritage, demonstrating that identity is not only a source of inspiration but a defining element in the creative process.”

Satisfied, Harlo saved her document and took a moment to breathe. The clock on her laptop read 12:47am, and though she was exhausted, there was a distinct satisfaction in knowing how much progress she’d made. 

Her mind, however, refused to rest, drifting uneasily to another looming task: her finals in six weeks. The thought of preparing for exams, juggling the proposal, and managing her workload sent a sharp current of anxiety through her chest. It wasn’t just the workload - it was the disruption to her routine, the very thing that kept her grounded. Harlo had been through this before, both midterms and finals, and she knew what it would be: longer days, shifting her study schedule, and cutting into what little free time she had. Even though the process was familiar, the anticipation still unnerved her, stirring an unease she couldn’t quite suppress. 

Her fingers twitched toward her bedside table, reaching for a pastel yellow post-it note. The simple act of writing felt like a lifeline, a way to impose structure on the chaos swirling in her mind. With shaky hands, she scrawled a reminder:

Create study schedule for finals - due Sunday.

The note felt insufficient, like a small patch on a much larger crack, but it was something - a step, however small, toward regaining control. Harlo placed it carefully at the edge of her laptop, smoothing it down with her thumb as though grounding herself through the gesture.

She drew in a long, uneven breath, willing her racing thoughts to settle. Her gaze shifted to her workspace, the neatly stacked books that seemed to contradict the disarray inside her mind. They were tangible proof of her efforts, of her ability to push through the noise - even when it felt overwhelming.

Still, the weight of the upcoming weeks lingered, pressing down on her chest. No matter how many finals she had survived before, the thought of uprooting her carefully maintained schedule always brought a creeping dread. She reminded herself that she’d handled it before and would handle it again, but the words felt hollow in the face of her restless thoughts.

Trying to stem the rising tide of anxiety, Harlo forced herself to log off her laptop. She clicked the lid shut, the weight of the device heavier in her hands than usual. With practised motions, she gathered her textbooks, notebooks, scraps of paper, and folders, pushing them back into her bag. Each item seemed to hold a piece of her scattered thoughts, the act of packing them away only partially calming the rush of emotion beneath the surface.

A few minutes later, she was back in bed. But this time, the covers enveloped her, cocooning her in a semblance of comfort, the warmth offering a temporary reprieve. Reaching into the drawer of her bedside table, she pulled out her journal and pen, the familiar weight of them grounding her in the quiet of the room. She opened to a fresh page, the blankness beckoning, and let her thoughts spill out with the ink from her black ballpoint pen.

As she wrote, the floodgates opened. Harlo’s tears came in silent waves, tracing paths down her cheeks as her pen moved furiously across the page. She wrote about the anxiety pressing on her chest, about the constant hum of doubt and the crushing weight of everything she had to do. Her hand shook slightly, the words coming faster than she could read them, the page filling with jagged thoughts and raw emotion.

Thirty minutes passed like this, the tears blurring her vision and the world outside fading into the background. Harlo’s alarm went off, pulling her from the haze of emotion, its soft chime cutting through the quiet of the room. It was 1:30am, the time she’d set for herself to stop, but the stillness felt unbearable. She glanced down at the journal in her lap. The pages were soaked with ink and tears, the words scrawled in a hurried, near-illegible script. She had written five or six pages, though the majority of the sentences were barely more than scribbles.

With a sigh, Harlo closed the journal and capped her pen, placing both back in the drawer with a quiet finality. She took a deep, shaky breath, feeling the weight of the day settle on her like a heavy blanket. For a moment, she sat still, her mind slowly quieting as she wiped her face with a soft tissue from the bedside table. The coolness of it against her skin was soothing, helping her ground herself in the present.

She breathed in deeply, focusing on the slow rise of her chest. Gradually, her racing thoughts began to settle, the sharpness of the anxiety dulling. It had always helped - this ritual of writing, then pausing to breathe. She had been doing it for years now, sometimes twice a day, sometimes more. It was something she’d learned long ago, in a childhood filled with chaos and noise, when breathing was the only way to block out everything around her. It had become her refuge, a small act of control amidst the storm, allowing her to realise whatever was weighing her down.

Reaching for the lamp, Harlo flicked it off, plunging the room into darkness. The cool, comforting sheets wrapped around her like a soft embrace, and she pulled them tightly over her body, seeking solace in the simplicity of rest. It had been a mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausting day, and nothing sounded better than the promise of sleep, even if it would only come in fragmented stretches. 

As she settled deeper into the bed, she closed her eyes, the darkness behind her lids an escape. Sleep came quickly, though it was restless - her mind refusing to stay still. She woke a few times in the night, jolted by nightmares, or rather, bad memories that still lingered, haunting her even in the quiet moments when she thought she could finally escape. Still, it was enough. It was something. And so, Harlo drifted back into the haze of sleep, waiting for tomorrow to come.