I used to skip every three steps and incorporate the number into all of my usernames. Even in rankings and competitions, three was often a familiar presence. It was inexplicable, though my fate with the number three was crystal clear.
Three had long been my favoured number, until it glared back at me from a test sheet, embellished with red ink by my professor’s hand.
Twenty-plus fateful years, and yet I found myself betrayed on the most crucial day. Ten joyful years of academic ease but I sensed the grave had been dug, ready for my downfall since day one. Now, three epitomises my failure, one for which I’ve never prepared a manual for.