The school bell suddenly exploded.
Its sound rang out, piercing the air.
Forcefully breaking the silence that enveloped Nazma.
Its sharp, shrill ring felt like a vibration echoing right into Nazma's eardrums.
The school bell rang again, long and piercing, shattering the remnants of Nazma's daydream.
Sigh... I still wanted to look at him... Nazma sighed.
She tried to gather her scattered soul back together. The surge in her chest was still too strong to simply obey the signal to start class.
Before her consciousness was fully pulled back to the lesson, Nazma stole one last chance.
Slowly, she peeked at Zemiro again secretly. Their eyes met.
Nazma immediately pulled away, averting her gaze with a jerk that nearly made her neck stiffen.
Zemiro stared straight at her.
Her hands moved busily, tidying books on her desk, her fingers brushing through the air and touching the hollow wooden surface, even though her desk was completely empty.
Zemiro remained still in his position, his forehead slowly furrowing in a faint scowl. He watched Nazma's hands busily fussing over the empty desk.
Screams of frustration exploded inside her chest. Wanted to shout. But this was in class. Many people. The person I wanted to scream at was also right here.
It could only stay trapped in her throat until her face felt like it was burning hot. She cursed herself, mocking how stupid she was for looking like a dazed person tidying up the air in front of that guy.
Someone, please remind Nazma. Anyone, please wake this girl from the pit of her own madness. Enough with her heart being a mess, now let her return to the only thing she can control with logic: studying.
Pull her back to the real world before her face completely ripens from shame.
Nazma suddenly remembered her sidelined ambitions. Right, she shouldn't fall apart just because of one unexpected look.
The sound of heavy footsteps at the doorway broke the tension. Pak Diaz stepped in, making the classroom atmosphere, which was once rowdy, suddenly turn stiff.
The man stood tall at the front of the class with a serious expression—as if he were about to announce something important.
With Pak Diaz, at the front of the class, his face looked serious—as if he were about to announce something important.
"Attention everyone," Pak Diaz's voice was low and raspy, making Nazma reflexively straighten her back.
"Because COVID-19 hasn't really subsided yet," he began in a heavy tone.
Pak Diaz paused his sentence for a moment, giving a pressure that made Nazma's chest suddenly tighten.
"So we will take turns with other classes. Not all classes will come in on the same day. Starting tomorrow, only six classes per grade level will come to school. The rest—including you all—will be online."
Nazma sighed inwardly, a breath heavy with disappointment.
This is exactly why I'm dead-set annoyed... School is just a formality from seven to twelve, as if time was intentionally cut short just when I started enjoying it. Covid, covid.
Online again the day after tomorrow.
The Saturday plan she had imagined full of romantic silence has now sublimated. The chance to be close to Zemiro has become slim.
She watched closely as the virtual simulation showed how to slide the vernier scale. Her fingers nimbly took note of every detail; how to determine the main scale, then finding the nonius scale line that aligned most perfectly.
"This is easy," she murmured enthusiastically.
As the lesson continued to the Micrometer Screw, her enthusiasm grew even more. Nazma felt challenged to read the rotating scale on the thimble. She imagined herself turning the real tool, locking the spindle, and adding up the numbers with precision.
Result = Main Scale + (Nonius Scale x 0.01 mm)
Nazma stared at her dull phone screen. It was small, the battery heated up quickly, and she had to repeatedly wipe the screen so the precise numbers there could be seen clearly. She realized that complaining about school policies or lamenting her fate wouldn't change a thing.
Complaining wouldn't make COVID-19 disappear, nor would it bring Zemiro in front of her tomorrow morning.
"Online school has no clear end, so we might as well do what we can do now," she whispered, her voice sounding much calmer than before. "So, let's just do what we can."
She sat cross-legged on the floor of her parents' room, which was covered in cold tiles. There was no study desk there. She purposely stayed in this room because of its large window, letting the sunlight shine directly onto her pile of books for free.
To her, turning on the lights during the day was an unnecessary waste. Save energy, save electricity—at least that was a small thing she could do to help her parents' burden.
Her focus was no longer on the delayed longing, but on every scale she read. She chose to invest in herself, because she knew, it was the only thing that wouldn't be affected.