Those rebellious kids are usually just screaming for attention. It is quite pitiful. Maybe Bright is like that too.
Perhaps … he doesn't get enough attention at home either.
Nazma let out a long sigh.
Hyto.
That boy always had a thousand and one ways to disrupt the lesson. Nazma still remembers one chaotic incident among the many Hyto had caused; he once exploded in the middle of class, slamming the classroom door so hard the window glass vibrated, then sauntered away just like that in front of the frozen teacher.
Nazma vividly recalls how Hyto would laugh the loudest when the whole class shouted at him; was his friends' hatred something he needed that much?
Yet, behind that deafening laughter, Nazma once heard about Hyto's problems—how both his parents were consumed by their work and neglected his emotional needs.
She felt a flicker of the same aura.
BANG! Nazma jolted.
Her body leapt in her chair.
Bright suddenly lunged and pulled her sleeve from the side, forcing Nazma's head to tilt up.
"Heh!" Nazma reacted spontaneously.
Nazma looked left and right.
Her face tensed, her eyes widening as she stared at Bright's back. Luckily my scream was quiet. Otherwise, everyone would have stared.
Her hands trembled as she gripped her skirt, her breath hitched, and her ears turned red.
The boy laughed again, blending into the crowd of his frantic fans without looking back even once.
On the other hand, Zemiro caught Nazma's restless movements from the corner of his eye. There was something in her reaction that made him wonder.
To others, Bright's disruption was just a typical classroom prank. To Zemiro, however, Nazma's unease felt like more than just a shock—it was like an echo from something deeper that was disturbing her peace.
Zemiro turned his gaze forward again, his expression remaining flat. Nevertheless, his mind began to note something new about the girl sitting not far from him.
Nazma straightened her wrinkled sleeve. Such a total attention seeker.
Still, Nazma's observation had very human limits.
She didn't know.
The girl was completely unaware that the radar she took pride in was missing a major anomaly.
The figure who had just recklessly pulled her sleeve—the boy she likened to the bitter memory of Hyto—was actually a gift from God. God had sent the person who would change her life path, and he was now around her. However.
However, Nazma still knew nothing about that.
The clock already showed 12 PM. The piercing sound of the bell cut through the silence of the classroom, marking the end of the final lesson of the day.
Nazma wanted to speak with Zemiro after school today!
She stepped through the wooden doorway, then turned to follow the second-floor corridor.
On the left side of the hallway, there was the school clinic with wooden windows facing the waist-high balcony.
Nazma was a few steps behind Zemiro. Her heart held its breath right in her chest. Her mouth was locked. Unable to utter a word. Nevertheless, she did not give up. Nazma thought of the one way she might be able to do it; reaching for the large black backpack on Zemiro's back.
It's huge; is there a bomb inside?
Exactly as Nazma's fingers stretched out to grab it, Zemiro took a wider step. Nazma lost her momentum; her fingers only caught the empty air.
Zemiro walked fast up ahead, his shadow faintly reflected in the glass of the clinic's wooden windows as he passed.
She slowed her pace as her feet began to step onto the stairs. Her fingers gripped the stair railing tightly, trying to maintain her balance amidst the flow of people.
The atmosphere suddenly became crowded; many students were jostling to get out of the dim and dark stairwell. Nazma was squeezed, trying to find a gap between the crowd of tall boys and short girls filling the access way. She had to fight through that crush as quickly as possible before losing track of Zemiro.
Nazma swung her legs, trying to synchronize her rhythm to catch up with Zemiro's speed.
They descended the stairs. Nazma remained one landing above Zemiro, monitoring through the gaps of the iron banister.
Upon reaching the ground floor, they passed a small lobby filled with rows of trophies in glass cabinets. Nazma was still hunting. Leaping over a small ditch covered with iron grates. Failed!
The reach this time failed too!
Damn it. Her right foot was stuck in mid-air. Her leg was tingling.
From that position, Nazma saw Zemiro already standing outside the short gate. Her hope wasn't dead. Fighting the spreading numbness, Nazma forced her foot to land and then ran again to make up for the delay. Her bag swung and hit her shoulder repeatedly.
Then, Nazma suddenly halted her steps. A cloud of dust flew from Nazma's final footfall. Her eyes bulged in disbelief.
Zemiro got into a white car?
A luxury car?
Zemiro?
A rich kid?
Huh?
To ensure her vision wasn't mistaken, Nazma ran again with a beaming face. Around her, it was as if beautiful bubbles were floating in the air.
Yet, just as Nazma reached the final step toward the asphalt, the car sped off. A thin trail of smoke remained in the air. Nazma immediately raised her head. Squinting her eyes. Searching for the one most crucial thing there.
Got it.
The numbers and letters were locked.
Memorized!
She pulled her tie with a sharp tug, straightening the knot again with her breath still ragged.
"Mark today as an achievement."
The grin of her teeth reflected the sunlight.
Nazma stood there, smiling broadly like a crazy person after successfully securing Zemiro's car plate number in her memory.
***