On June 1, 2016, at 9.56 a.m., my best friend texted me.

I didn't even get to process it before I saw my teacher peaking her head out behind the door telling me to get inside quickly because we need to lockdown. Seconds Later: Bruin Alert-- the campus emergency alert email-- "Shooting at Engineering 4, go to secure location and deny entry (lockdown) now!"

At first, my class didn't really move. We have gotten bruin alerts in the past that sometimes end up being some misunderstanding and not a threat at all. We assumed this was one of them, because there was no way a shooter was at our happiest place on earth, our safe haven, our home.

But then the group messages, the texts, the GroupMe's flooded in. And the reality set in.

An active shooter was on campus. My classroom immediately moved to the back of the room, turned off the lights, began barricading the doors with whatever we could find, hiding under desks, texting and calling our parents. Panic. We were all panicking.

I was texting my family group message and was informing them of all the updates; they were just as scared as I was because of the lack of information anyone knew about what was going on.

Then the rumors, what we thought to be true, started spreading. Two gunman, one male one female. No, three gunman, one wearing a green shirt. No four gunman, black jacket black pants, one female and one in a green shirt. They are heading towards Student Activity Center, they are headed toward YRL, gunshots heard in YRL, screaming and gunshots on Bunche third floor.

This is when we all truly became terrified. This is when I truly thought I might die today. Bunche, the building directly across from where I was, had an active shooter who, rumor had it, was moving incredibly fast. Everyone tuned into the police scanner and the live stream on the News in hopes of getting clarity, but at that point, we just thought the police did not have as much information as we did, so students began calling 911 and telling them of the rumors, which only made them spread more.

When the "shooter" hit Bunche hall, my classroom lost it. We were the next building on target, and we knew there was a possibility we could die today. I repeatedly alternated between, "I am so scared." and "I love you guys so much" text messages to my family. I was heartbroken when my sister asked if she could call me and I had to deny her because I needed to stay silent.

SWAT, FBI, LAPD, UCPD, BHPD, SMPD, Investigations from Intelligence, they all swarmed our campus. We got notice that Obama was informed and we knew this was a world wide tragedy going down.

But suddenly, after two-and-a-half hours of traumatizing fear, thousands of messages from friends and family, seven bruin alerts, we got word from LAPD that the campus was contained. And we were all released. Just like that, to go back to our lives before we thought we were dying. My body tense, still shaking, not really sure what to do. My roommates and I texted each other and met at home so we could just hug, and be grateful that we got a chance for another hug.

But after all that, we all pretended like everything was normal. Not because we wanted to, but because we had to.

Although classes were cancelled for the day, I don't think they understand what cancelling classes for students at UCLA for one day means. It means nothing. It means we merely get more hours to study for our finals tomorrow or finish our papers. One day means nothing. I am truly saddened that we are only given one day to mourn the loss of a beloved professor, mourn the murder and suicide that had just taken place on our home, our safe place, one day to recover from the fact that we were all just fearing for our lives. Yes, I am so grateful the event was not as deadly as we may have thought, but people, human beings (a father, husband, colleague), died on the campus that we walk everyday. They died. Worse, they were shot, murdered. And now, we have to go back to pulling all nighters in the library, studying hours at a time, cramming to pull of an A in a class, when merely hours ago, we weren't even sure if we were going to be alive to take any of those finals.

Thankfully, I was blessed to have professors who were extremely understanding of the shock we just went through. But others were not as lucky. Papers were "extended" by a few hours, the finals were moved to the next day. Some professors even made students take the finals hours or minutes after lockdown was lifted. It has been two days since the shooting, just 48 hours, and I feel weak taking the optional extension I was offered for my English paper because I go to UCLA and academics are supposed to trump everything, even the sadness I feel in my heart that two grown men have just died on the campus I love, and that I had to fear for my life for two-and-a-half hours. I feel weak that I need to mourn. I feel weak even writing this article that states I am still not fully recovered from the events that happened two days ago.

People died in my home, my campus, my safe haven, my everything. But I have to pretend they didn't, because I have a final to take and a paper to write.