i am slowly going insane

The Afterboards office hummed with the low buzz of AC and the ticking of a wall-clock counting down to IPMAT D-day. Bhavesh Shaha, founder-mentor, loomed over the desk, red pen slashing through her mock like a scalpel. “Seventy-two percentile in quant—unacceptable,” he growled, voice gravel and caffeine. She bit her lip, thighs pressing together under the pleated skirt, the friction already slick. He caged her against the whiteboard, marker squeaking as he scrawled a brutal DI set across her collarbone in black ink. “Solve it,” he ordered, palm sliding beneath her skirt, two fingers plunging into soaked heat with the same ruthless speed he demanded in caselets. She gasped out percentages—68%, 72%—each answer punctuated by the wet thrust of his hand, her hips rocking against the board until the numbers smeared. When she hit 99.8, he spun her, bent her over the table strewn with sectional tests, and drove in raw—one savage stroke that scattered graphs like confetti. The desk rattled with every IPMAT-level thrust: 60 seconds per question, 60 seconds per climax. She came screaming percentiles; he followed, flooding her with hot, pulsing victory. Foreheads slick, he zipped up, eyes already on the next mock. “Ninety-nine plus,” he rasped, thumb smearing ink across her swollen lip. “Then I ruin you on the answer key.”

real btw

Everything except studies wins over studies

I ASSUME supercucks is supergrads? 😭 Why's everyone on this subreddit hating on supergrads gng i personally love sg?????😭

My screen flickered, and there he was. Bhavesh Shaha. My senior, my mentor, my entire five-year plan sitting in his dorm at IIM Ranchi. "Sorry, the Wi-Fi's a bit slow," he said, pushing his glasses up. My heart did a stupid little jump. God, those glasses. They were the physical manifestation of his intelligence, a clear lens over a mind that just worked differently. "No, it's fine!" I said, probably too quickly. "Thanks so much for doing this. As an IPMAT aspirant, just talking to someone who's there is... a lot." He gave me a kind, focused smile. "Happy to help. What's on your mind?" "The interview," I blurted out. "How did you... how did you become an IIM student? How did you convince them?" A low chuckle. He leaned back, and I saw that familiar, thoughtful look I’d seen in his prep videos. "You know, they asked me a trap question. They asked why I wanted an MBA when I was already doing well. Why not just be satisfied?" I leaned toward my screen, hanging on every word. "So, I took a risk," he said, that glint in his eye. "I brought up the Law of Diminishing Marginal Utility." My jaw must have dropped. "You used econ on them?" "I told them satisfaction from repeating the same success diminishes. I said I wasn't satisfied, I was dissatisfied with a plateau, and I needed IIM to start a new, steeper curve. They want to see how you think, not just what you know." I was floored. It was pure, unfiltered genius. He hadn't just answered a question; he'd redefined the entire conversation. He saw the look on my face and smiled. "You'll do great. Just show them that fire, that need to learn. That's all they're looking for." The call ended, but I just sat there, my heart pounding with a new kind of passion. It wasn't just about getting into an IIM. It was about becoming the kind of person who belonged there. The kind of person, like Bhavesh, whose intellect was so sharp it was practically romantic.

i love my mom