The hall was silent except for the scratching of pens and the ticking of the wall clock. Tunde stared at the final question, the one he had avoided for the past two hours. His mind was blank completely, terrifyingly blank. One minute left!the invigilator announced. A wave of panic shot through him. His heartbeat quickened, his hands trembled. The room suddenly felt too hot, too bright, he was sweating profusely. Around him, chairs squeaked, pages flipped, someone whispered a prayer. Tunde closed his eyes for half a second, inhaled, and let the air settle his thoughts. A memory surfaced, his lecturer's voice explaining the formula he thought he’d forgotten. The almighty formula his lecturer called it. He snapped his eyes open, grabbed his pen, and let it race across the page. The clock’s second hand hit the top. “Pens down!” Tunde leaned back, breath shallow, heart pounding. He didn’t know if his answer was perfect, but at least he hadn’t left the space empty. Sometimes, surviving the final minute is victory enough.