Nazma tapped her finger against her beating heart, sweat trailing down her forehead. She froze, suddenly alert. Could the sound of my heart be heard by… ?
She tried hard not to look at Talitha.
Her eyes peered to the right while her head remained facing forward. She fixed her gaze only on the whiteboard.
She swept over the rows of names displayed on the board. Tracing the list of students one by one from Monday to Sunday. Except for Friday. Her attention seemed sucked into Talitha's handwriting there. In reality, she was hiding her anxiety.
Her eyes narrowed at the list of names on the board. "Saturday."
At the same time, Nazma caught a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye.
The corner of her eye twitched slightly, resisting the urge to form an arc that was too wide.
She could feel someone approaching with cheerful, small skipping steps. The aura of joy radiating from every stomp seemed to collide with her back, but Nazma refused to turn around.
Her focus remained locked straight ahead, pinning her gaze to the board.
"I'm joining you, Na!"
The shrill and spoiled voice broke Nazma's tension.
Nazma pulled the corners of her lips into a formal smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Her thoughts leaped far ahead, a fragment of a plan flashing in her head.
"Zemiro."
The stroke of Talitha's marker on the board stopped abruptly. The girl turned, "Huh?"
Nazma cleared her throat. Swallowing her nervousness. Putting on her flattest expression.
"Zemiro too," she said in the coldest tone possible. "Put him on the same day, okay?"
Talitha nodded and went back to writing, "What's his full name like?"
"Guil-her-me," Nazma dictated fluently. "G-U-I-L-H-E-R-M-E."
While Talitha wrote on the board, Nazma turned her face away, biting her inner lip so her smile of victory wouldn't be seen. The name 'Zemiro Guilherme' was written just like that, as easily as she whispered it in her heart every night.
Ah, this Saturday... it'll be quiet, right?
Her mind drifted, composing a sweet scenario that made her stomach suddenly tingle. She imagined the classroom corridor filled only with the sound of her broom's friction.
Then, Zemiro would come carrying a dustpan, standing right beside her without saying much. There would be only the two of them.
When Nazma accidentally brushed against his arm, the boy would only turn, giving his calm baritone gaze, and then they would share a thin smile understood only by each other.
Oh my god... if that really happened, my breath could stop that very second.
Nazma forgot that her goal in getting close to Zemiro was for revenge against Harvey's insults. Learning English.
"Khansa."
That very familiar baritone voice sliced through the air.
Khansa? Her eyelids fluttered. The corner of her lips twitched, until her mouth slowly drifted open.
The glow in her eyes died out. Her chest was struck by something hard.
Who is that? Why did he mention the name Khansa? Is Khansa his girlfriend's name?
Nazma startled, the entire fantasy about Saturday evaporated.
Realizing she was still frozen in front of the board, she took a step, dragging her feet back to the frontmost bench. She landed in that chair, then pinned her gaze straight ahead—staring blankly at the black-framed whiteboard.
Her mind suddenly grew noisy. Who is Khansa? Had Zemiro already given his heart to that woman? Were they already tied together?
If all of that were true, then what?
Her lips curved deeply, her face suddenly turning gloomy.
Nazma, still rooted to her front bench, held her breath as the tall figure passed through the doorway.
Zemiro walked in with one hand holding a cold, misted water bottle. His face remained calm even as his hair was slightly messy from the wind.
But for some reason, it felt painful.
Zemiro headed straight for his desk in the front row. He didn't know his name had been written up front.
Nazma waited until Zemiro truly reached his chair and became immersed in his own world.
Just a little.
Only then did she embolden herself. Slowly, she turned her head slightly to the left. She pushed the name 'Khansa' to the corner of her mind for a moment.
The sting that had just squeezed her chest suddenly receded, vanishing without a trace as soon as her eyes found Zemiro's figure again.
Through the gap of her seatmate's shoulder, she stole a glance. Zemiro was sitting with a straight and relaxed back.
Even just from the side, acalm aura radiated from his silhouette. Nazma's pupils dilated, her lips slightly parted.
The sunlight piercing through the window framed Zemiro in a magnetic, golden glow.
Nazma was mesmerized. Suddenly losing her words. A pure admiration crept up. Curiosity and palpitations grew much larger.
The boy lifted his water bottle.
From the side, Nazma could see Zemiro's sturdy forearm. Fine veins appeared prominent beneath his clean skin as his fingers gripped it.
He opened it with one efficient movement, then swallowed the water with rhythmic movements of his Adam's apple. After that, his eyes swept across the whiteboard filled with 30 students' names, 6 days, with 5 people on duty each.
Nazma observed every tiny detail. How the gaze of his eyes looked focused. Zemiro was like a puzzle written in a language she had not mastered.
What kind of person are you, really? Nazma thought.
Why is he so silent?Nazma wanted to know more, beyond just the long name she had dictated in front of the board earlier. Nazma's lips were still curved down.
Now, there was a tiny spark of resolve radiating from Nazma's heart, even though she didn't know what it was yet.