The teacher's voice at the front began to cut through the noise. A large folder was opened, and the atmosphere instantly grew more solemn. Attendance had begun.
"Celline?"
"Present," replied the girl beside Nazma in a voice that was calm and clear.
Nazma glanced out of the corner of her eye.
She caught the glimmer of Celline's unique irises—a deep violet-blue, as clear as indigo crystals reflecting the classroom lights.
Even the way Celline answered felt graceful to her ears.
So beautiful. So clear that Nazma felt as though she were looking at a real angel standing before her.
"Leofrant?"
"Present."
The voice that answered that name was low and flat, with a raspy texture. There was a quiet sharpness at the end of every sentence, a tone strong enough to make the entire class fall silent and listen.
Now, her turn was drawing closer. Nazma's heart beat a little faster. She sat up straight, smoothing her hands over the desk. She wanted her voice to sound clear and full of confidence.
"Nazma?"
"Present."
Nazma answered firmly. She felt the vibration of her own voice in her throat—a statement that she truly belonged here. She was no longer the old Nazma. She was Nazma of Class 7A.
"Denise?"
"Present."
Throughout the roll call, Nazma's gaze never wavered. She didn't turn to the students answering, nor did she look around the room. Her focus was locked entirely on the figure at the front.
Mr. Diaz sat calmly behind his desk. His work shirt looked neat, contrasting with the black trousers that gave an air of stiff formality. In Nazma's eyes, that teacher's desk was like a throne separating the world of studentsfrom the authority she had to obey.
Another student answered from the back row. Nazma steadied her breath again. New names began to fill her head like puzzle pieces forming a picture of her new life in junior high.
A cold sweat soaked Nazma's back when she heard her name called.
Oh, it turned out this was serious.
But there was one name that kept nagging at her mind.
Where exactly was the person named Zemiro?
His face was truly handsome. His smile felt sweet, creating a twinkle in his eyes that crinkled warmly—the kind of smile that could make anyone melt. His hair was styled with bangs that fell softly across his forehead, providing the perfect frame for his good-looking face.
Nazma peered around, searching for Zemiro's face among the crowd.Where could he be?
Nazma felt like the name she was waiting for would never be called. Why was it taking so long?
Could it be… he's the last on the list?
"Zemiro Guilherme."
"Present. Sorry, Sir. It's pronounced Ghee-ler-me."
The voice answered from a direction Nazma hadn't expected at all. Not from the back row, nor from the classroom doorway.
Nazma froze. Her head slowly turned to the left.
Just three rows away from her. There, a male student was lowering his hand after answering the call.
The figure Nazma had been searching for until her neck ached was actually sitting within her line of sight. Nazma blinked repeatedly, feeling as though she had been tricked by her own vision.
How could I have missed him?
Nazma stared at the boy's profile with wide eyes.
His hair was neatly styled, exposing a forehead that had been covered by bangs in her memory. However, the faint smile etched in the photo from last night was now completely locked behind a blue mask. At seven this morning, everything felt foreign. Nazma had lost her points of reference; she couldn't confirm if it was truly the same person.
A sudden heat rose to Nazma's cheeks. She felt ridiculous. Oh... no wonder I didn't realize.
It's because he's wearing a mask…
From the back bench, a short girl with a loud voice piped up,
"Oh, is that him? The one who likes to send those funny stickers in the group chat?"
A few girls laughed. Nazma let out a small chuckle too.
"Yeah, right! He looks so different in person," Esa chimed in.
But his face... Well, who knows... he's always masked up!
"Alright, children," the homeroom teacher's voice broke the noise.
"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mr. Diaz," he continued.
The classroom went silent instantly. All eyes watched calmly.
"Starting next year, I will be your homeroom teacher. So, please cooperate to maintain the good name of this class. Follow the lessons well, okay. And if there is anything to report, come to me first, not the counselor. Remember, I am like your parent at school. As a parent, I should know about you first."
Zemiro listened attentively, sitting quietly in his row.
His round eyes seemed to smile, even though his face was still covered by the mask.
The teacher asked,
"Understood, children?"
"Understood, Sir!"
Nazma and Milan shouted the loudest from the back.
Ah, no mistake! That's him!
Nazma thought excitedly.
Zemiro Guilherme... I finally see his expression clearly. Even if it's only through his eyes.
Mr. Diaz continued,
"So, today we will organize the class committee and the cleaning schedule, okay."
"Who wants to be class president?"
Several friends pointed to two names: Talitha and Fadel.
Fadel immediately raised his hand,
"Sorry, Sir. I can't. I'll be moving soon. I'm a dormitory student."
Mr. Diaz nodded.
"Oh, alright. Randis, then?"
A short boy named Randis looked shocked.
He wanted to refuse but hesitated.
Mr. Diaz looked at him expectantly.
"It's okay. Just give it a try."
Randis finally nodded slowly.
"Alright, Sir."
(In his heart: I'm being forced into this...)
Mr. Diaz went on,
"What about the secretary? Treasurer?"
Silence.
No one raised their hand.
Suddenly, a girl about 150 cm tall blurted out, "Esa, Sir! Make Esa the treasurer!"
Nazma could hear the mischievous tone in her voice.
"Hey, no, Sir! I don't want to!"
Esa immediately refused, making a pleading face at Mr. Diaz.
But in Milan? Her eyes narrowed—
a "you're looking for trouble, aren't you?" look.
Mr. Diaz laughed softly.
"It's fine. It's a learning experience too."
Esa pouted. Nazma could feel the aura of annoyance mixed with resignation from the girl.
"Milan, you'll be the secretary, alright?" Mr. Diaz asked, looking at her.
Milan paused for a moment, then nodded slowly,
"Okay, Sir..."
Nazma could tell from her expression—she only said yes because she felt bad. She had just blurted out Esa's name, and now it was her turn to be picked.
After the committee was settled, Mr. Diaz said,
"Now it's time for the cleaning schedule. Please lead the way, Talitha. I need to step out for a moment."
As soon as Mr. Diaz left, the classroom atmosphere shifted instantly. Several boys went out to buy snacks without permission.
Talitha sighed tiredly.
"Ugh, where did all the boys go..."
Nazma's gaze reflexively shifted to the chair she had been observing.
Empty. Zemiro was no longer there.
Even though Nazma had just wanted to check for the crinkle at the corner of his eyes or other small details to prove the boy's identity.
Now, there was only an empty wooden desk and a bag draped over the chair.
The boy had apparently moved faster than the blink of an eye.
"Did Zemiro go out too?" Nazma murmured almost inaudibly to herself.
She began making her way to each desk.
"Which day do you want?" Talitha asked Nazma.
Nazma glanced at the name list on the whiteboard.
Zemiro's name wasn't there yet.
A thin smile—one that might look a bit suspicious to anyone else—curled on her lips. This was a golden opportunity.
While the guy was away, she had to make sure they were on the same schedule.
"Which day, hmm..." Nazma pretended to think for a moment.