It's finally Friday, and thank fuck there's a weekend away from lectures on its way. It's been three days since Al flipped his lid over a scarf and left me reeling in confusion. I've successfully managed to avoid him since, but my luck is about to run out, as our neurobiology group is meeting this afternoon at 2pm. To say I'm not looking forward to it is the understatement of the century.

"Hi Sunny! Fancy seeing you here at this time in the morning."

I glance up from my lecture theatre seat and smile weakly at Judith's slightly sarcastic greeting. She grins and affectionately pats my head as she sits down next to me. It's only 8.35am, but I've been here for nearly twenty minutes already, working on my Huntington's presentation in this practically empty auditorium. Not that Judith's presence is an unwelcome intrusion, of course; I'm always glad to see her, even if she does occasionally pet me like I'm a well-behaved labrador.

Rubbing my eyes, and stifling a yawn, I shuffle my neurobiology notes into a neat pile and push them to one side, then take a swig from the can of diet coke that's doubling up as breakfast today.

Judith casts a glance at the pile of paperwork. "Neuro group stuff?"

I nod. "Just going through some essays that the rest of the group sent around via email earlier this week. Got a meeting this afternoon so that we can make our poster and organise the talk. I haven't actually had to do any of my own research or writing as I'm the group's presenter, but I thought it would be less daunting the better prepared I was. There's just SO much to know."

Judith nods understandingly. "We're meeting on Sunday morning at Queens college to go through ours, and then popping across to The Anchor pub for a roast dinner afterwards."

"Such camaraderie," I remark enviously, unable to imagine socialising with Bella, Catz-boy or Rabbit-boy, and definitelynot Al. Especially after that little display of temper he showed on Tuesday. The mere thought makes me shudder. "What's your talk on, Jude?"

"Tay-Sachs disease."

"Never heard of it."

"Neither had we, until we had to create a poster and a ten-minute talk on it. It's a rare disorder; so rare that no-one even bothered to mention it in genetics lectures last year."

"I love how Cambridge encourages us to take an in-depth look at all these obscure diseases we'll never actually encounter in practice. So very useful."

"Talking of relevance, today's pharmacology lecture is on anthelmintic use. In dogs."

"Why the fuck do we need to know about treating worms in animals? Surely the vets could have those lectures on their own instead of involving us?" I groan in annoyance. "Oh well. May as well spend the time wisely and carry on with this presentation instead."

Judith laughs. "How's it going, anyway?"

"Badly."

*****

Three hours later…

"Sunny, are you ready for lunch?"

Judith and Saffron are already on their feet, clad in coats, their faces bright with anticipation. The echoes of the last lecturer are still ringing around the lecture theatre and barely anyone else has moved from their seats yet.

I smile back fondly at their eager little faces before emitting a sigh.

"I can't today. I really need finish this presentation," I reply. "Sorry, girls."

The grins slide from their faces and they glance at each other. "But we arranged it ages ago! Indigo cafe, remember? Table's booked for 12.30 and everything!"

Shit. I'd forgotten about that.

I look down, feeling genuinely guilty for disappointing them, but also desperate to finish this piece of work. "Look, I can't. This presentation is stressing me out big-time. I have to get it right."

"You are going to have lunch, right?" Judith asks, in the sort of tone that I wouldn't dare say no to.

Actually, I wasn't planning on having a proper sit-down lunch. I'd bought a family-size bag of cheese Quavers so I could snack and work at the same time.

"I've brought food with me," I reply, deciding not to elaborate on what 'food' actually consists of. I'll only get an earful off Judith, and possibly Saffron too, if I do, even though I'm a responsible adult and can bloody well have crisps for lunch if I want. And diet coke for breakfast.

A look passes between the two of them and somehow, automatically, I know I've been beaten.

"Sunny, we're not taking no for an answer," says Saffron firmly, as she and Judith drag me out of my seat by my armpits and hand me my coat.

"Guys!" I protest, but it's in vain. Judith has dumped my notes and bag into my arms and I'm getting frogmarched out of the lecture theatre against my will.

The Indigo cafe is a really nice, cheap, vegetarian restaurant about fifteen minutes' walk away from the lecture theatre, and the food there is absolutely delicious, but I've got no appetite for lunch today.

"I can't believe we break up in two weeks," says Saffron, picking out the last piece of kohlrabi in the salad bowl. "This term has flown by."

"As we get older, times goes by more quickly," says Judith wisely, refilling her glass of water from the jug in the centre of the table. "Sunny, do you want a top-up?"

I shake my head.

"Sunita Chandrakumar, you've been super quiet today," says Saffron. "If you're panicking about your talk; don't. It'll be fine, I'm sure."

"Easy for you to say," I reply gloomily. "You haven't been selected to present your group's work and it wouldn't bother you anyway if you had. Plus, I've got that arsehole Al in my group and he's bound to hit me with his powers of disdain when it's obvious I don't know anywhere near as much as he does, which will make me feel about two millimetres high."

I haven't told the girls about what happened the other day. At first, I was livid and wanted to let the world and his wife know what a terrible person Al Potter was, but then, after Googling 'Verne Alley' through sheer curiosity and not finding any information - it doesn't even exist according to the map of Cambridge, for fuck's sake - I almost wondered whether I'd dreamed the whole episode.

It's all very strange.

"I've got some Rescue Remedy if that would help?" Saffron says, reaching into the depths of her bag. I notice, to my annoyance, that she's skirted around my 'Al is a wanker' diatribe. After Tuesday, I can categorically state he is most DEFINITELY a complete tosspot, whatever Saffron thinks.

"Is that the stuff you gave me last time that tastes a bit like brandy but isn't?" I ask suspiciously, eyeing the small bottle in her hand.

Saffron nods.

"In which case, no thanks; it didn't work then and it's not likely to now," I reply, somewhat irritably after not getting the response I sought when slagging off Al.

"Does anyone want pudding?" Judith asks hopefully.

"No thanks," I reply as I check the time on my 'phone. "Fuck!" I shriek. "It's twenty to two! I'm going to be late for that meeting!"

Hastily, I scrabble about in my bag for my purse and extract several five pound notes which I throw onto the table. "I'm sorry girls, but I've GOT to go. Let me know on Monday if that's not enough money to cover lunch."

Gathering up my belongings, I scurry out of the restaurant and onto the road outside.

I'll be cutting it pretty fine; it takes a minimum of seventeen minutes to walk from here to the neurobiology department on a quiet day. When the city is awash with pedestrians as it is today, I can add on at least an extra five minutes.

I sprint-walk down streets, dodging clusters of tourists and slow trudgers, until I reach the double doors to the department. It's five past two, I'm more than slightly sweaty, and definitely very out of breath. There's no supervisor today, so the pressure is off in that respect, but there are plenty of other sources of anxiety for me to tap into.

"Oh hi, Sunita," says Bella calmly, when I finally find the seminar room, dishevelled and red-faced after firstly barging in on someone else's meeting and then having to dash to the loo. "We're just plotting the poster layout. I don't think it will take too long, actually. Then, we should probably run through the talk." She turns away to discuss something with Rabbit-boy, who is flourishing a marker pen.

I nod, throwing myself into a spare seat, too breathless to speak. I spend a few moments rummaging in my bag and extracting papers one by one - where the fuck are all my notes? If Judith has made me lose any, I'll murder her - before finally laying my hands on all the relevant pages.

Everyone is poring over a large piece of poster-board and working together serenely, not a flushed face or hair out of place between them. I feel like I'm a gate-crashing tangled ball of chaos, completely at odds in this tranquil setting with its almost artistically-placed slants of sunlight and advertisement-perfect model students.

"Can I help at all?" I ask, more out of obligation than anything.

"Not really - you just have to do the talk, that's your only role." Bella smiles sweetly. "I've co-ordinated the project, Toby and Milas are designing the poster, then Lemar, Ronnie, Kevin and Al have provided the written content. Nothing left to cover."

"Yeah, I got the email with everyone's contribution," I reply. "I've organised the information into sections and picked out the key points to deliver. I thought I'd split it into four sections to fit in with the pattern of notes I received; aetiology, pathogenesis, treatment, and experimental therapies. Two-and-a-half minutes on each."

"Sounds great," says Bella approvingly. "Would you like to go through it now?"

Actually no, I fucking wouldn't, but I don't suppose that's an acceptable answer. Instead, I nod meekly.

"Right, everyone!" Bella's voice rings out clearly. "Sunita's going to go through the talk."

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, that's it. My brain turns to mush and my palms start to ooze sweat. Despite trying very hard not to notice Al, he's just walked straight into my line of sight, cool and self-assured as usual. Any remaining shred of confidence I might have had, has suddenly evaporated.

Seven pairs of expressionless eyes are now all staring at me. I wonder if I can politely ask them to turn away, or maybe I can turn around and talk to the wall behind me instead?

Eep.

Taking a deep breath, I plunge straight in. "Huntington's disease is a progressive neurodegenerative disorder…"

Oh bollocks; I just fluffed the word 'neurodegenerative' and now I've forgotten what I'm supposed to say next. Frantically, I scan the page of notes in my hand, looking for a cue, but nothing makes any bloody sense. It may as well be written in Swahili for all the good it's doing me.

I stutter for a moment, mumble out an apology, and start again. To avoid having to look at everyone, I fix my gaze on the light-switch next to the door. It's not very helpful, because light switches haven't got particularly encouraging expressions but it's better than focusing on Bella's sympathy or Al's haughtiness.

This whole phobia is ridiculous, because I know the information well. It's all firmly entrenched in my head thanks to a week of obsessive reading and cramming, but it's almost as if the act of standing up in front of an audience renders it completely inaccessible

I'm not going to deny; it's now awkward as fuck in here. I'm completely flustered, I'm getting words mixed up and now I'm starting to babble. The words are pouring out in a torrent to rival the Niagara falls.

How the fuck am I going to stand at the front of the lecture theatre and talk about Huntington's disease in a professional manner to more than eighty people?

The worst thing is, the stress of having to present this freaking thing hasn't yet reached its pinnacle. It's bad enough today; next Friday, I'll probably pass out from the tension.

"Sorry. I haven't quite got my talk finished yet," I ramble apologetically when, to everyone's relief including mine, my nonsensical verbal diarrhoea comes to an abrupt halt. "I need to juggle a few bits around."

"You'll be fine," says Bella, in the tone of voice that suggests I'll be anything but. "You just need to speak more slowly and clearly."

"I know," I murmur miserably, perfectly aware that I've just given a ten-minute talk in under eight-and-a-half minutes. I think I might have also broken the world records for the longest non-stop sentence and time survived without fresh oxygen, as I'm pretty sure I hardly breathed at all during that whole speech.

I need to get outside and replace all those lost breaths, pronto. Without sparing a glance at anyone, I bundle my notes into my bag and depart at a run.

Once I'm outside, the panic subsides and I take deep, calming breaths of cool air as I walk the short distance back to where I left my bike this morning. The cycle ride back to college doesn't take too long, despite having to navigate a clump of pedestrians carelessly wandering down the middle of the road whilst pointing at King's college chapel.

As if they need to point at the chapel to draw attention to it. It's so fricking enormous, it points at itself.

I really ought to apologise to Saffron and Judith for flying out of the restaurant earlier; another thing that's been preying on my mind this afternoon. As soon as I enter my college room, I sent a quick grovelling message to our WhatsApp chat and smother it with hearts and love-emojis, hoping it will appease them both and that they won't hate me too much.

I'm just in the process of jumping in the shower when there's a knock at my door. I quickly wrap my dressing-gown back around myself and open it.

It's Gabriela who strolls in, completely oblivious to my semi-nude condition as she plonks herself on my bed. "Hey Sunny, you busy?"

How busy can I be in my dressing-gown?

"Nope. Going to have a shower and an early night," I reply

"Oh." Gabriela turns her puppy-dog eyes on me, and she has the biggest brownest most puppy-dog-irresistible eyes of anyone that I know. "I was hoping you might come with me to the bar."

Bang goes my early night of wallowing in my own misery, because it's impossible to say no to Gabriela, and I have a sneaking suspicion why she has this desperate urge to go to the Junior Common Room bar.

"I take it Marcus is working this evening?" I ask drily. Marcus is a PhD student who works part-time behind the bar and Gabriela finds him more than just a little bit attractive.

"You're a star, Sunny!" Gabriela engulfs me in a hug and dances gaily out of my room. "Meet you in twenty minutes?"

"I haven't said Yes yet!" I whine in protest.

Gabriela props herself against the door-frame and gives me a cheeky wink. "You won't say No if I tell you a certain Engineering student is probably going to be there too."

No, I don't suppose I will now.

"Give me twenty-five minutes," I sigh. "And I'm only going for one, okay?"

What famous last words.

The next morning…

Oh my fucking God, my head.

It's Saturday. At least, I think it's Saturday. I can barely think of anything through the incessant pounding of this hangover. Judging by the brightness of the sunlight which is currently assaulting my eyes, it must be several hours past breakfast time. I groan and duck back under my duvet.

Uncomfortable memories of last night come flooding back into my mind.

Oh fuck. I snogged him.

The evening had started off so well. Gabriela and I had gone to our common room bar and sat at a table with a couple of other friends. I was only going to have one drink before retreating back into my room for a quiet evening of Netflix and crisps.

Then halfway through my 'only' pint, Jonty had turned up in all his tousled-haired glory, looking smoulderingly hot in a semi-fitted white t-shirt and dark-blue jeans. That 'one pint' resolution promptly went flying out of the window, along with my morals, it would seem.

I remember wishing I'd dressed to impress. Sadly, twenty-five minutes of preparation was nowhere near enough for me to look Vogue-worthy. I'd chosen an ultra casual outfit; skinny jeans, plain jersey top and ballet flats and was completely make-up free. After all, I was only planning on having one drink in St John's bar because Gabriela wanted to schmooze Marcus.

When Jonty and his friend asked if they could share our table, everything changed. Immediately, I sat up straighter and began to laugh at something one of the girls had said that wasn't actually supposed to be funny. Boys like girls who smile, don't they?

I cringe. Ugh! How could I have been so superficial, so pretentious?

The drinks were flowing and with each successive pint, I became bolder. It wasn't long before I was conversing with Jonty and his friend, Paul Powell, and it felt so natural, so effortless. What excitement lay ahead; would I finally pluck up the courage to make a move on Jonty?

Fucking Hell, how could I have let myself behave like that?

Lager, you are one influential, deceptive piece-of-shit drink, you really are.

I massage my temples and close my eyes, wondering if I've got any Ibuprofen handy.

I wasn't quite sure exactly how, because some of the details seem to be trapped in the dense, alcoholic fog which is currently inhabiting my brain, but somehow, a number of us ended up in 'Mash', Cambridge's only nightclub.

I don't do clubbing, but yesterday I would have willingly followed Jonty off the edge of a cliff, such was my need for comfort and validation at the end of a long, emotionally-stressed week.

It was a bad idea. Stupidly, I knew that it would only end in my disappointment, but I had to drunkenly, irresistibly follow this path of fate to an eventual conclusion with my hair well and truly let down.

Just like the glitter balls in the nightclub, I bared my all to shine in front of Jonty. Fuelled by an ocean-load of alcohol, I laughed, I twirled, I practically fucking sparkled with charm and positivity.

He never noticed me.

I may as well have been invisible for all Jonty cared. He only had eyes for some waifish platinum-blonde girl in a tiny pink sequinned outfit which left virtually nothing to the imagination. He was the moth and she was a brilliant, entrancing flame. Next to her, I was an energy-saving light-bulb that was about to shine its last.

It suddenly dawned that this was me at my best; if he didn't desire me now, he never would.

I wish he did.

It was a despairing realisation, the sort that doesn't mix well with a large quantity of alcohol.

Which is how, totally inebriated to the point of passing out, I had somehow managed to wind up snogging Jonty's best mate, Paul.

Plain, uninspiring Paul, who had been available, interested, there.

Oh fuck. I snogged Paul.

I don't fancy him at all, and all I can think right now, is…Ugh.

Don't get me wrong; he's a nice, friendly guy, and actually, he's not a bad kisser, but there's no frisson of excitement when I look at him and no spark between us. Yet because I was being so fucking needy, Goddammit there I was, being a terrible human being and sucking face with a boy that I was absolutely not attracted to in the slightest.

Thank fuck I had the presence of mind to stagger back from the club to my own room in the early hours of this morning. Sans Paul. Who knows where my quest for gratification would have taken me if I hadn't?

I'm left with just one sobering certainty as I throw off my duvet and dive into my en-suite to puke my guts up.

Any chance of a passionate encounter with Jonty has now been well and truly kissed goodbye.