Looking wristward, you crane your head to stare up at the face of the woman whose palm you rest in. Her eyes are alight with wonder, but her gargantuan countenace does not take up the horizon in its entirety; you can even now make out another face appearing over her shoulder.
It's an older woman, perhaps nearing the end of her thirties if her canyonous wrinkles are anything to go by (not that you'd have noticed them at all at regular scale). Her own, even bigger, hand brushes some stray hairs behind her ear as she opens her mouth to speak.
"Is everything all right? Need any help?" asks the invigilator, who has now closed the door to the exam hall.
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