By Andrew Wang
The fourth years counted down the days. Braced ourselves for the worst.
But nobody could have prepared us for what happened when the day came.
They packed, tight, into the common room, still excited about their day’s learning at 5pm in the afternoon. Their endless chatter of cannulas and pneumonia and heart murmurs filled what was, for a week, a space that had been solely ours.
The third years had arrived, and the common room was already theirs.