Final year was hell. My supervisor hated me for no clear reason. He rejected every chapter I submitted. Other students were progressing. I was stuck. Deadlines passed. Extensions expired. He started calling me after hours. I refused at first. He made it clear: no cooperation, no graduation. I cried, begged, reported — nothing changed. In desperation, I gave in once. Just once. My project was approved the next week. I defended. I graduated. My parents celebrated. I smiled for pictures. Inside, I felt dirty, angry, and cheated. That man still lectures students today. I sometimes wonder how many other final-year dreams he’s destroyed or controlled.