Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Sua was an exemplary student. She considered herself good at everything, but of course, good students always had favorite subjects, and others they didn’t like as much; for Sua, math was the subject she absolutely hated. She was more into literature, she didn’t like numbers, and although she wasn’t bad at it, she didn’t stand out either unless she put all her effort into it. Unfortunately for her, math wasn’t a subject she could escape from, and it kept getting harder every year. Most of the teachers this year were new, and she hoped they knew how to explain things properly and taught with care, because to her, when someone hated their job, it showed and affected the students’ learning.

Her schedule wasn’t that bad, but the subject she struggled with the most had the worst hours. Monday at eight in the morning, only one class. Wednesday and Friday at two fifteen in the afternoon, two classes. Honestly, it would be torture. She looked under the subject’s name, where the teachers’ names were always listed; “Mizi”, apparently, was a new teacher.

She was in ninth grade, and this year she would turn fifteen. Although, unlike most of her classmates, she didn’t want a huge party or an expensive trip, though her parents would never let her do nothing, so she was going to have both of those things. To her, it all felt unnecessary, but her older sister had convinced her to listen to mom and dad.

The school term started the following week. It wasn’t something that worried Sua too much; she was used to routines, schedules, new notebooks that always promised organization at first and that she managed to keep neat if she really wanted to. Even so, there was a slight feeling that this year would be different somehow, even if deep down she knew it probably wouldn’t be.

The days before school started passed without much worth mentioning. Uniforms ready, supplies organized, comments from her family about how fast she was growing up. Sua simply listened, nodded when appropriate, and continued doing her own thing. And eventually, Monday arrived.

The alarm rang earlier than she would’ve liked. Eight in the morning for math was definitely not the best possible start. Even so, she got up without complaining too much. She wasn’t the type to arrive late.

The school hallway was still relatively quiet when she arrived at the classroom. She entered without making noise, like she usually did, and quickly looked around, deciding where to sit. She didn’t like the front, where everything felt too exposed, nor the back, where attention drifted too easily. She chose a seat in the middle, like always. Not too close, not too far. She left her backpack at her side, took out what she needed, and settled into her seat. She was one of the first to arrive, so the classroom still had that comfortable silence that slowly breaks apart with everyone else’s voices. It didn’t take long for her classmates to start coming in, filling the room with conversations and laughter. Sua barely paid attention. Every now and then, her gaze drifted toward the door.

Until the teacher appeared.

“Mizi,” she remembered immediately.

She was young. Younger than Sua had expected. She looked like she was in her twenties. Her pink hair was tied into a low ponytail that rested softly down her back, and she wore round glasses that gave her a look somewhere between professional and relaxed. She looked nothing like the strict teacher Sua had imagined. She was beautiful. Sua thought it plainly, without overcomplicating it. The teacher placed her things on the desk and turned toward the class with a light, natural smile, as if she genuinely wanted to be there. “Good morning,” she greeted, with a clear voice. “I’m Mizi, your new math teacher.” There was no tension in her tone, none of that heavy atmosphere some teachers carried with them.

She talked a little about herself, about her age, that it was her first year at this school, about how much she liked teaching. She didn’t drag it out too much, but enough for the class to pay attention. Then she rested her hands on the desk, leaning forward slightly. “Before we start… I want to know where you’re all at,” she said. “What topics have you covered so far?”

Some students started answering. Basic algebra, equations, a little geometry. Mizi listened carefully, nodding, asking small questions, as if she genuinely cared about understanding the class’s level. Sua watched her silently, she didn’t know if it was because of the way she spoke, the effortless way she smiled, or how comfortable she seemed in that space, but it was difficult to look away.

For one second, brief but clear, Mizi looked up and their eyes met. But there was something different in the way she looked at her, it wasn’t the same as with everyone else, it wasn’t a quick, automatic glance, it lasted a second longer and felt more aware, as if she had actually noticed her. Sua felt something strange, although she couldn’t really put it into words, “intimidated” was maybe close to how she felt, but it still didn’t fit completely, she wasn’t scared.

Sua didn’t think too much about it. The class continued normally. Mizi kept asking questions, writing things on the board, organizing the topics they would cover during the year. She didn’t immediately start with difficult exercises, which Sua silently appreciated. Instead, she seemed more interested in understanding how they thought, how they solved things, where they hesitated.

Sua took notes with her usual neatness, although more than once she found herself looking up without realizing it. She wasn’t the only one staring at the teacher, but even so, it felt like her own attention was different. More persistent.

When the bell rang, marking the end of class, a general murmur spread through the room. Chairs moving, backpacks closing, conversations resuming as if they had only been paused.

Sua packed her things calmly, without rushing, she had no reason to hurry anyway, no one was waiting for her. She stood up once most people already had and walked toward the door with the rest, letting herself be carried along by the flow of students in the hallway.

“What did you think?” she heard someone ask behind her.

“Definitely better than last year’s teacher,” another voice answered.

Sua didn’t join in, but she did think about the answer.

The rest of the day passed without anything especially noteworthy. Classes, notes, the constant noise of school. Everything exactly as expected. Even so, more than once, her mind drifted back, for no apparent reason, to that morning class.

Then Wednesday came, and math appeared on her schedule again. This time at two fifteen, with two classes in a row.

Worse, much worse. The afternoon exhaustion didn’t help, and Sua was already mentally preparing herself for something heavier than Monday. Even so, she arrived on time, as always, and the classroom was more crowded this time. She looked for her usual seat and sat down, leaving her things on the desk. She rested her chin on her hand for a moment, absentmindedly watching the others talk among themselves, until the door opened. The teacher walked in with the same natural ease as the first day, as if that space already belonged to her a little. “Good afternoon,” she greeted, placing her things down. Many of the students sighed in exhaustion and annoyance, but Mizi didn’t react badly. “So excited to see me, I see.” Some laughed. Sua didn’t, but the slight curve at the corner of her lips was there, even if nobody noticed.

The class moved forward more than it had on Monday. They started with simple exercises, review work, nothing too complicated, but enough to wake their minds up. Mizi explained everything without rushing, walking between the desks, stopping whenever someone had a question. She never raised her voice, something important to the black haired girl. At one point, while they were solving an exercise, Mizi walked near Sua. She stopped beside her desk, leaning down slightly to look at her notebook, Sua noticed her presence before even looking up. “It’s correct,” the teacher said quietly. “But you skipped a step.” Sua looked up and realized she was standing way too close. Mizi pointed at the notebook with her pencil, briefly explaining. Her tone remained calm, but quieter than when she spoke to the rest of the class.

Sua nodded. “Yeah.” That was all she said.

Mizi didn’t leave immediately. She stayed for another second, as if making sure she truly understood. That same way of looking at her that wasn’t quite like how she looked at everyone else. Then she simply straightened up and continued walking through the classroom as if nothing had happened. Sua lowered her gaze back to her notebook and redid the exercise.

Friday arrived faster than she would’ve liked. Two more hours of math. But unlike Wednesday, this time the exhaustion wasn’t only physical. It was the kind of heaviness that builds up throughout the week, settling in your shoulders and head, making everything feel slightly slower. She arrived on time, as always, and sat in her usual spot. The class started with review exercises, Mizi wrote on the board, explaining with the same calmness as always, moving from one side of the room to the other while speaking.

The black haired girl opened her notebook, but she didn’t start the exercises. She took out one earbud, only one, and placed it in her ear. The volume was low, just enough not to attract attention. It wasn’t the first time she’d done it. Music filled the space the class failed to occupy. It was a beabadoobee song. Soft, slightly melancholic, easy to let play while your mind drifted somewhere else.

“Don't stay awake for too long

Don't go to bed

I'll make a cup of coffee for your head

I'll get you up and going out of bed”

Her pencil started moving, but she wasn’t writing numbers. Small distracted doodles instead, stars at the edges of the page, badly drawn hearts, lines leading nowhere. Scribbles that filled the empty space without requiring her to think too much. She rested her head slightly against her free hand, staring at the notebook without really seeing it, until a shadow fell over the page and stopped there.

“Sua.”

The voice was soft and didn’t startle her, but it did make her react, she looked up and found the teacher standing beside her. Mizi glanced at the notebook for a second. The stars, the hearts, the empty space where the exercises should’ve been. “You should pay attention,” she said calmly. “I know you’re probably tired… it’s Friday.” There was something almost understanding in the way she said it. The teacher was so kind. “And these exercises are review work, yeah,” she continued, “but you should still study them.”

Sua nodded slightly. “Yeah.” She wasn’t upset, but she wasn’t embarrassed either. Mizi stayed another second, as if she were about to leave, but she didn’t immediately. “By the way,” she added, her tone shifting slightly, “I like that song too.”

The black haired girl blinked and straightened up slightly in her seat, a smile appearing before she could think about it. “Really?” It sounded genuine. Mizi seemed briefly caught off guard by the reaction, but only slightly. A faint blush appeared on her cheeks, almost imperceptible, and she looked away for a second before looking back at her. “Yeah, I do.” She smiled a little more, as if she hadn’t expected the conversation to go in that direction. “What else do you listen to?” Sua hesitated slightly. Not because she didn’t know, but because she didn’t usually talk about those things.

“Nothing specific…” she said. “Mostly indie. Calm stuff.” She paused briefly. “Sometimes kind of weird bands too… like alternative sounding stuff, I guess.”

The teacher nodded, interested. “Good taste.” Sua didn’t respond immediately, but the small smile was still there. “I listen to a bit of everything,” Mizi added, “so I can’t really give a very concrete answer either.” She adjusted her glasses with a light movement, still looking at her. “But anyway…” she said, shifting to a slightly lighter tone, “you should get back to studying.” There was a teasing edge in her voice.

Sua let out a quiet laugh. “I will.” And surprisingly, she sounded cheerful.

Mizi watched her for another second, as if mentally noting that. Then she smiled again and walked away, continuing her path around the classroom as if nothing had happened. Sua lowered her gaze back to her notebook and gripped the pencil with a little more intention than before, now, although she didn’t remove the earbud, she started the first exercise.

The music kept playing quietly in her ear, muffling the noise of the classroom, making everything feel farther away and easier to ignore, but after a while, it became difficult. At first it wasn’t a clear sound, more like a change, the way the constant murmur of the classroom suddenly warped and turned uneven, louder voices, chairs scraping violently. She frowned slightly but kept writing. Until a loud thud cut through everything.

She looked up and saw several heads already turned toward the back of the classroom. Someone let out an exclamation, another a nervous laugh. The noise suddenly grew chaotic, impossible to ignore even through the music, and Sua removed the earbud.

“Hey, hey!”

Two boys, Ivan and Till, were in the middle of the classroom, shoving each other. It didn’t look like a planned fight, it was clumsy, impulsive, more childish than dangerous, but still difficult to stop. A chair fell backward. “Stop!” Mizi’s voice cut through the air. She moved quickly. Much faster than Sua had expected. She reached them and tried to separate them, stepping between them without hesitation. She grabbed one boy’s arm, pushed the other backward, trying to create distance between them. “Stop it, now!” Her tone remained firm, but she wasn’t yelling. Even so, they weren’t listening, one of them, Ivan, lunged forward again. Mizi stepped back half a step, keeping herself between them, raising one hand like a barrier while using the other to hold them apart. By now the classroom was pure noise. Some students had stood up, others watched from their seats expectantly. Nobody was actually doing anything.

At one point, one of the boys accidentally shoved her while trying to pull away. It wasn’t hard, but it was enough to make her stumble back slightly, the movement was quick and yet Sua noticed it. The slight tightening of her hand, the tiny shift in her expression before composing herself again.

“Enough!” The voice that interrupted wasn’t Mizi’s.

The principal had appeared at the door, drawn in by the noise. He walked toward them firmly, and this time the fight stopped. Not willingly, but because of his presence. He separated both boys easily, much more roughly than Mizi had. “Both of you, outside. Now.”

There was no protest, and the classroom fell silent almost immediately, as if someone had shut everything off at once. The principal said something quietly to Mizi that Sua couldn’t hear. She barely nodded. Then he led them away. Mizi remained standing where she was, still, as if she needed that second. She adjusted her glasses automatically, took a slightly deeper breath than usual, then turned back toward the class. “Well…” she said, returning to her usual tone, although there was something slightly different about it. “Where were we?” Some students laughed quietly, more out of reflex than because it was funny, the atmosphere took a while to settle again.

Sua lowered her gaze back to her notebook, but after a moment her eyes drifted again, searching for her. The teacher returned to the front of the classroom, explaining as if nothing had happened. Her voice was the same. Her movements, almost. But Sua kept watching her for a few seconds longer than necessary. It wasn’t obvious, but it was there, a faint redness on her wrist where someone had grabbed her. The pencil stopped between her fingers.

She looked toward the front of the room for another second, where Mizi continued explaining as if nothing had happened. Little by little, the classroom returned to its rhythm. Voices lowered again, notebooks reopened. She exhaled quietly, almost imperceptibly, and moved the pencil, drawing a meaningless line. She hesitated for a second.

Then she raised her hand, she didn’t do that often, it could be said she preferred to withdraw a little during class. Her teacher noticed quickly. “Yes?” she said, approaching her. She walked between the desks with the same calmness as always, as if nothing had changed. When she reached her desk, she leaned slightly to look at the notebook. “Which part don’t you understand?” she asked, in that quieter tone she only used when speaking up close.

Sua pointed at the exercise with the tip of her pencil. “This part doesn’t make sense to me,” it wasn’t entirely a lie, but it wasn’t the real reason either.

Mizi rested one hand on the edge of the desk, leaning a little closer to look. Her hair fell slightly forward, and for a second she seemed focused only on the numbers. “It’s set up correctly,” she said. “You’re just missing…”

Sua looked at her, not at the notebook, at her. At her wrist, the redness was still there, clearer up close, and the words left her mouth before she could even think about them.

“Are you okay?”

She didn’t react immediately. “The exercise?” she answered almost automatically. “Oh, yeah. You’re doing fine.”

The black haired girl shook her head softly. “No, teacher.” She paused briefly, lifting the pencil slightly to point. “Your wrist,” the gesture was simple and direct. But the effect wasn’t simple. The teacher went still for a second that stretched longer than normal. She lowered her gaze, following Sua’s gesture, as if only then noticing the redness. Her fingers moved slightly, almost out of reflex, as if testing whether it hurt. Then she looked back at her.

Her expression changed, she frowned slightly but at the same time smiled, it wasn’t a soft or kind smile, it was small and crooked, carrying something difficult to read. Almost cynical. A mocking smile.

She opened her mouth as if she were about to say something, but she didn’t get to.

“Miss!” Another voice from the other side of the classroom. A student raising her hand, calling for her, that was enough and the moment broke apart. She looked away for only a second. She hesitated. It was subtle, but it was there. When she looked back at Sua, her expression was no longer the same. “I’ll be there in a second,” she answered, raising her voice slightly toward the other student. Then, quieter, to Sua, “we’ll talk about that later.” She didn’t specify what “that” meant.

Sua slightly parted her lips as if she were going to say something else. But by the time she reacted, the teacher was already walking away without looking back at her.

The pencil started moving again, but this time it didn’t write anything coherent. Just a short crooked line that stopped halfway through, her mind wasn’t on the numbers anymore.

And when she waited for that “later”, it never came. She didn’t know what the teacher had meant by “later”, but maybe it had only been something people said without really meaning it. Maybe she had never actually planned to talk to her afterward. She packed her things painfully slowly, practically at a snail’s pace just to buy time and make Mizi look at her, talk to her. But it never happened. The only thing she got was; “you don’t want to be the last one left in class, hurry home, it’s Friday.” Her smile looked warm but fake at the same time, frustrating Sua, who simply left with a pressure in her chest that was difficult to explain. She wondered, how long would she have to wait to see her teacher again? Did she really have to wait until next Wednesday? Sua was furious.

When she got home, she immediately locked herself in her room without speaking to her family, well, she never really did, at least not with her parents.

She laid down without even taking off her uniform and started thinking, did Mizi, her teacher, really matter that much to her? She had never gotten involved with a teacher before, she had never wanted to be friends with anyone, well, she didn’t want that with Mizi either, she didn’t know what she wanted. But the only thing she could think of was catching up on math, so without even realizing what she was doing, she started studying and teaching herself the topics they were supposed to learn this year, she was sure she would impress her teacher if she could do everything effortlessly.

The weekend passed without anything especially different, at least on the surface. Sua woke up on Saturday at the same time as always, without an alarm, as if her body was already used to never resting too much. She spent a few seconds staring at the ceiling before getting up, without thinking about anything specific, just letting time pass until moving became inevitable. She went downstairs for breakfast in silence, as usual, her mother talked about trivial things, her father answered, and she nodded when appropriate without really involving herself. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t close either because it never had been.

Afterward, she returned to her room and sat at her desk. She didn’t think much about it. She opened her math notebook almost out of inertia, as if it were simply the next logical thing to do. At first she worked with some reluctance, reading the topics they would cover during the year, reviewing concepts she already knew, solving exercises without much interest. But as the minutes passed, her concentration became firmer. Understanding had never been difficult for her, and that made everything flow easily. Even so, there was something different about the way she was doing it this time. It wasn’t only responsibility, nor simply wanting to get ahead of the curriculum. It was more like a quiet need to prove something, even if she couldn’t fully put it into words.

When she finished with math, she moved on to other subjects. Literature, history, biology. Whatever she had to do. What she always did. The day organized itself around that, as if there were nothing else to fill it with. She tried not to think about anything else, or at least that’s what she told herself. Sometimes it embarrassed her to admit it, but she didn’t really have an interesting social life.

Back in elementary school, teachers would always approach her asking if something was wrong, they would send the more extroverted kids to ask if she wanted to play with them, and although she always refused, it was more out of embarrassment than actual rejection. They sat the problematic kids next to her, hoping they would imitate her good behavior, it had always been like that. And when she got older, it didn’t really change much. Now that she was in ninth grade, everyone already knew her, so people didn’t question her or pay as much attention to her anymore. Many times her physical education teacher, Hyuna, would see her in the hallways and greet her enthusiastically or try to encourage her to talk to someone, Sua would just smile and say yes, but in the end she never actually did anything.

There were kids who bothered her sometimes, like Ivan, he was unbearable, he was just as weird as her, or maybe even weirder, she knew the boys hated him because she had overheard them more than once, they always talked in front of her as if she didn’t exist, though she would never say anything because it wasn’t really her business. The girls said he was handsome, she honestly didn’t see it, but she had never been interested in boys.

Acorn was friendlier, but he seemed strange to her, sometimes he tried talking to her and stuttered, or sometimes she caught him staring at her from afar, sometimes she felt bad for him because maybe he was also bad at making friends.

Sunday felt slower. She woke up later, with the sensation that time stretched on without any clear reason. The house felt emptier than usual. Her sister wasn’t there, something that was becoming more and more common lately, she barely spent any time at home anymore, she went out without giving many explanations and came back late, when she came back at all. Sua didn’t ask questions. Sometimes she thought it was her fault that her sister kept leaving, Hia had always taken care of her, but at the same time, sometimes it felt like she hated her.

Her sister hit her sometimes, not hard punches, more like slaps, or when she grabbed her hand, she held it so tightly it hurt. Their parents had always loved Hia, but they never really knew how to divide their love properly, so when Sua turned out to be a well behaved child, Sua became the favorite.

Hia was angry. She had been for a long time.

In the afternoon, while heading down to the kitchen for a glass of water, she overheard her parents talking quietly. Not low enough that she couldn’t understand, but enough to make it obvious they didn’t want to be heard. She didn’t fully stop, but slowed down just enough to catch a few sentences.

Her mother spoke first, her tone restrained, like she was trying not to raise her voice too much. She said her sister couldn’t keep going like this, that she was home less and less, that they didn’t know who she was with or what she was really doing. Her father replied with something Sua couldn’t fully catch, but his tone wasn’t certain either. There was a pause, and then her mother insisted again, quieter this time, saying she wasn’t the same as before anymore, that she wasn’t good anymore. Her father said she probably wouldn’t become a successful person.

Sua kept walking and entered the kitchen as if she hadn’t heard anything. She grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and drank without really looking at her parents, who went silent the moment they saw her. They smiled at her, asked her something irrelevant, and she answered just enough before heading back upstairs to her room.

She closed the door and leaned against it for a second, not really thinking about the conversation. Or at least, not wanting to. She sat back down at her desk and opened her math notebook. The pages were filled with correct, neat, organized exercises. Everything in its place. She set her pencil down, but didn’t write anything right away. She stared at the page for a few seconds longer than usual, as if waiting for something to change on its own.

It didn’t, and she went back to studying.

The rest of Sunday passed the same way. No surprises, no changes, nothing that really made it different from any other day.

Monday arrived with nothing special about it. Sua went back to the uniform, the schedules, the constant noise of school. Classes went by one after another with the same normality as always. She took notes, paid attention, answered when she was supposed to. Everything the way it should be.

And even so, something felt off.

It wasn’t obvious, or anything she could clearly point out. But it was there, in the way her eyes drifted slightly in the hallways, between classes, every time she had to move from one classroom to another. She wasn’t looking directly, or at least she didn’t want to admit it, but she still looked. Through the crowd, between teachers, toward the ends of the hallway. There was nothing.

The first time she didn’t think much of it. The second time neither. But as the hours passed, the absence started to feel more noticeable. She frowned slightly while closing her locker. Hadn’t she come?

The thought appeared out of nowhere, and even though there was no reason for it to stay, it did. During the next break, she went back into the hallway. She walked the same path as always, without changing her pace too much, but paying more attention than she would’ve liked to admit.

Nothing. This time, what she felt wasn’t indifference, it was irritation. She didn’t have a clear reason for it, or any valid excuse. And yet it was there, growing quietly, building up without making a sound. She pulled the zipper of her backpack a little harder than necessary and kept walking, as if that would be enough to let it go. But it wasn’t. Because even though she hadn’t seen her all day, the feeling wouldn’t disappear.

She hadn’t seen her all day.

That, by itself, didn’t mean anything. The school was big, schedules were different, teachers didn’t move around the same places as students. It was logical and reasonable. Sua knew that.

But it still bothered her.

Tuesday didn’t start any differently. She woke up at the usual time, got dressed without rushing, went downstairs for breakfast in silence, and left the house with the same punctuality as always. The walk to school was routine, almost automatic. She didn’t think much about anything in particular, or at least not consciously.

First class was chemistry, and it was easy. Too easy.

The topics weren’t new, or at least not enough to require any real effort from her. The teacher explained things clearly, the exercises practically solved themselves, and time passed without her needing to stop and think too hard about anything. Sua wrote down what was necessary, answered a couple of questions, and for the first time in days, felt like a class wasn’t weighing on her. When the bell rang, marking the end, she didn’t feel relieved. She only noticed how fast it had gone by.

She packed her things with the same calmness as always and stepped out into the hallway with everyone else. The noise came back all at once, like every break. Voices, footsteps, laughter, doors opening and closing. All mixed together in that usual chaos that no longer felt strange to her. Almost out of habit, she headed toward the bench she usually sat at.

She walked with her eyes forward, not really thinking about where she was going, until she saw her and stopped.

Not abruptly, not enough to draw attention, but enough that her next step never came. She was a little farther ahead, standing there talking to someone.

Sua didn’t think. Her body reacted before her mind did. She took a step toward her, then another, until something clicked and she stopped again.

“What am I doing?” The question appeared clearly, without hesitation, cutting off whatever impulse she had left. She lowered her gaze slightly, like she needed a second to ground herself. It didn’t make sense. There was no reason to walk up to her like that, out of nowhere. It wasn’t normal.

She was about to turn away and keep walking like nothing happened. But then she saw Till heading straight toward Mizi without hesitation, unlike her.

Sua stayed still for another second. Then, almost without fully deciding to, she shifted her path slightly. Not enough for it to look intentional, but enough to get a little closer. Her steps became slower, more measured, like she was calculating the distance without wanting to make it obvious.

“Miss…” Till started, his voice quieter than usual. It didn’t sound like it did in class. Mizi looked at him, not surprised, more like she’d expected it. Till ran a hand through his hair awkwardly, avoiding eye contact for a second. “I wanted to… apologize for Friday,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean to push you. I just… Ivan…” He hesitated, jaw tightening slightly. “He gets on my nerves.”

Sua stopped a little farther ahead. She didn’t fully turn around, and she wasn’t staring directly at them either, but she could still hear them, see them from the corner of her eye.

Mizi nodded and smiled at him. It was polite. Gentle. The kind of smile anyone would expect, but there was something empty about it. Sua didn’t think the teacher was fake, just that she had incredible self control to smile at an idiot like him after he’d hurt her. Mizi was so admirable, such an incredible woman. “I know,” she replied calmly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Sua frowned slightly. She didn’t look upset or affected at all. Was she really not going to scold him?

Till relaxed his shoulders a little, like that answer alone was enough. “Still… sorry,” he insisted quietly. Sua noticed his face was a little red.

Mizi tilted her head slightly, keeping that smile. “It’s okay, Till. Really.”

Sua took another step, then another, no longer as slow. But at that moment Mizi shifted her gaze directly toward her and noticed her. Sua felt the change before she understood it. She kept walking, but something in her posture tensed slightly. Then Mizi’s expression changed. It wasn’t sudden, just subtle, but obvious. The smile was still there, but it wasn’t the same anymore. She moved a little closer to Till and rested a hand on his shoulder, soft and almost affectionate, like she was trying to reassure him. But she never looked away from Sua. Her smile was strange. It looked real this time, but also malicious. Sua had seen it before, but now she could pay attention to it better than ever.

Something tightened in her chest, stronger than before, harder to ignore. Her eyes watered slightly before she could stop it, before she even had time to process it. It wasn’t sadness, not exactly. It was something else, something more confusing, more personal.

She kept walking without stopping and without looking back. But the feeling didn’t disappear.

Would it be wrong to say what she felt in that moment was humiliation? Or maybe replacement. She couldn’t define it with a single word, but it felt close.

The rest of the day passed without anything that really set it apart from any other. Classes continued one after another with the same normality as always. Sua took notes, answered when necessary, and kept her attention where it was supposed to be. No one would’ve noticed anything different about her. Not in her posture, not in the way she spoke, not in how she organized her things. Everything was in order, or at least it looked that way.

She didn’t see her again. Not in the hallways, not between classes, not during breaks. And it wasn’t something worth questioning. They didn’t share any more schedules that day, and the school was big enough that not running into each other made sense. Even so, the absence didn’t go unnoticed. She didn’t look for her in any obvious way. She didn’t stop, didn’t change her route, didn’t do anything that could give her away. But every now and then, without meaning to, her eyes drifted. Briefly, automatically, like a reflex she couldn’t fully control. She was never there.

And instead of calming her down, that only kept the irritation there. Constant. Low, but present.

When the final bell rang, she packed her things with the same calmness as always and left the classroom with everyone else. The hallway was crowded, like every day at that hour. She walked through the crowd without rushing, barely looking at anyone. She wasn’t thinking about anything specific, but she also couldn’t fully stop thinking. She got home at the usual time. Said hello, went upstairs to her room, and closed the door. She dropped her backpack to the side and sat on the bed without changing clothes. She stayed like that for a few seconds, still, then leaned forward, opened her backpack, and pulled out her math notebook.

She didn’t hesitate.

She opened it to the last page she’d used and rested her pencil against the paper.

Sua woke up before her alarm went off.

It wasn’t gradual. She opened her eyes suddenly, like she’d already been awake before realizing it. She stared at the ceiling for a few seconds without moving, an odd feeling sitting in her chest. Light. Restless. Too awake for that hour.

She blinked once. Wednesday. She didn’t need to think much further than that.

She sat up immediately, pushing the blankets aside in one quick movement. There was no laziness, none of the usual heaviness of the morning. Her body moved on its own, like it had something to do. Something clear.

She got up and started getting ready faster than usual. Uniform, hair, backpack. Everything in order, but without the small pauses she usually took without noticing. Not this time. She went downstairs for breakfast. Her parents were already there. They said something, like always. Random comments, simple questions. Sua answered quickly, her attention wasn’t really in the conversation. She nodded, drank, glanced at the clock every now and then without making it obvious.

She finished earlier than usual. Normally she wasted just enough time to avoid being late without arriving too early, but today she didn’t care. “I’m leaving,” she said simply, without waiting around. She grabbed her backpack and left. The walk to school was the same as always, but it didn’t feel the same. She didn’t check her phone or get distracted by anything. She walked straight ahead, her mind occupied with something she couldn’t fully put into words, but that had been there since the moment she opened her eyes.

The first classes passed quickly.

Sua took notes, paid attention, answered when necessary. No one would’ve noticed anything unusual. But for her, time didn’t feel the same. It didn’t drag. It didn’t slow down. It just kept moving.

Every now and then she checked the time. Not too often, but enough, if there even was an exact measure for it. Break passed without her doing anything different. She sat where she always did, watched the same things as always. She didn’t look for anyone. There was no point.

She went back to class. Another subject. More notes. More explanations. Her handwriting stayed neat and steady, like nothing had changed. But under the desk, her foot tapped lightly against the floor, rhythmic and unconscious.

When the last period finally arrived, she didn’t feel relief. She felt something else. She stood up when the bell rang, grabbed her things, and walked toward the math classroom without seeming rushed. Her pace was the same as always, measured and steady. But she never hesitated once along the way.

When she got there, the door was still closed. She wasn’t the only one waiting. Other students stood around talking to each other, leaning against the wall. Sua stayed off to the side, a little apart like always. She didn’t join any conversation.

It didn’t take long before she appeared.

Mizi turned the corner of the hallway with the same naturalness as always, like nothing had happened Friday, or Monday, or Tuesday. She carried her things in one hand, her hair tied back, glasses perfectly in place. Sua noticed her before she was close enough to notice anyone else.

Mizi lifted her gaze slightly as she approached. At first it looked automatic, but then she stopped when she saw her. She didn’t look away. It wasn’t just a quick glance.

It was deliberate. Recognizing. Something shifted in her expression, subtle, barely noticeable. A slight curve at the corner of her lips, not the same one she gave everyone else. She walked over, unlocked the classroom, and let the students go in first. Sua didn’t move right away. She waited half a second longer than the others.

Then she stepped inside.

Once everyone was inside, Mizi stood at the front near her desk. “Good afternoon,” she said in that calm, clear voice of hers. Some students answered, others only looked up for a second before going back to what they were doing. Mizi didn’t insist. She set her things down, picked up the attendance sheet, and started calling names without rushing, saying each one softly while occasionally glancing up. When she finished, she placed the paper aside and picked up a piece of chalk.

“Alright,” she said, turning toward the board. “Before we continue, let’s correct what I gave you on Friday.”

She wrote the first exercise quickly, neat and organized. It wasn’t difficult, but it required attention. Some students started checking their notebooks while others stared without much interest.

Sua didn’t.

The moment Mizi finished writing, Sua raised her hand. No hesitation. She was the first.

Mizi noticed immediately. For a split second, she seemed slightly surprised. “Yes?” she asked.

Sua stayed seated. From her desk, she explained the entire process step by step without stumbling, without even looking at her notebook. Her voice was quiet, but steady. She didn’t rush and she didn’t make a mistake.

Mizi didn’t answer right away. She looked at her differently this time. Not like she looked at any student who answered correctly. “Correct,” she finally said. But she didn’t stop there. Her expression shifted slightly, and a smile formed with more intention than before. “Very good,” she added, her tone different this time. “Excellent.” It didn’t sound like an empty compliment.

Sua didn’t say anything. She lowered her hand slowly and looked back toward the front like it was nothing special. Like it was normal, even though it wasn’t.

Mizi continued with the rest of the exercises, correcting a few more with help from the class, though not with the same precision. After a few minutes, she turned back to the board. “Now we’re going to do something similar,” she explained. “Same type of exercises, different numbers.”

She wrote several new examples in organized columns. “I want you to try them,” she said, setting the chalk down. “It’s practice. Review the process.”

The classroom filled with that familiar silence of concentration. Pages turning, pencils moving, quiet questions here and there. Sua lowered her gaze to her notebook and started immediately. The steps came naturally to her, clean and organized. There was no doubt. She just kept going, line after line, solving everything confidently.

She was focused. Really focused. She wasn’t looking around or searching for anything, which is why she didn’t notice Mizi approaching.

First came the faint shadow over the edge of her notebook. Then the presence itself.

Mizi stopped beside her like before, but this time she didn’t speak immediately. She leaned slightly over the desk, one hand resting on it, enough to bring herself closer.

“Very good work, sweetheart.”

Her voice was low. Only for her.

Sua froze. She barely had time to react before she felt the light touch. Mizi’s fingers brushed against her neck just below her ear in a soft, almost absentminded gesture, like it carried no weight at all. It wasn’t quick. Her fingers lingered there for another second, moving gently, almost like a brief caress, but not something that could be ignored either. It reminded Sua of the same kind of affection someone would give a cat. Was she really in the same position as a pet now?

The pencil stopped between Sua’s fingers as the sensation spread downward from her neck like a soft warmth that wasn’t uncomfortable at all.

Quite the opposite. It felt good.

A strange lightness moved through her body, like something had finally settled into place without her needing to do anything. The tension that had been sitting in her chest for days was gone now. Calm. Full, even.

A feeling of satisfaction washed over her, like nothing else was necessary anymore. Like, for one second, everything fit exactly where it was supposed to.

Mizi stepped away after that moment with the same naturalness she’d approached with, continuing around the classroom as if nothing had happened.

Sua felt completely proud of herself.

She had worked hard. She deserved it.

She deserved this kind of attention because she was a good student, not Till. He wasn’t. Neither was anyone else. She was the only one who paid attention, behaved properly, and actually tried. Nobody else had studied, right? So this was a reward only she could claim.

A smug smile formed on her lips and stayed there, faint but firm, held more by the feeling than by the expression itself. Sua lowered her gaze to her notebook and kept writing, her pencil moving with precision, without mistakes, without pauses. Everything flowed exactly the way it should.

After a few minutes, Mizi returned to the front of the classroom. “Alright,” she said, picking up the chalk again. She tapped the board lightly, just enough to get everyone’s attention without raising her voice. “Let’s solve them together.”

Some students sighed. Others shifted in their seats in resignation. “Who managed to do them?” she asked, turning toward the class.

Not many hands went up. Sua’s did immediately. It wasn’t desperate or sudden. Just confident. She knew she’d done them right. There was no room for error.

Then Mizi looked across the classroom and saw her. It wasn’t accidental. It wasn’t something she overlooked. Her eyes stopped on Sua for a second.

And then moved on.

“You?” she said, pointing toward another student farther back.

Sua didn’t lower her hand right away. It stayed there for another second, suspended awkwardly before she finally let it fall slowly and looked back toward the front.

The other girl walked to the board and picked up the chalk nervously. The process wasn’t difficult and Sua knew that because she’d already solved it herself. Which made the mistake obvious the moment it appeared. One step set up incorrectly, one operation done too early.

Sua frowned slightly. She wanted to point it out, to say it was wrong, but Mizi didn’t interrupt immediately. She simply watched, letting the girl continue until the result started drifting off course.

“Wait,” Mizi finally said, stepping closer. She pointed directly at the mistake with the chalk. “Here.” The girl stopped and looked at what she’d written uncertainly. “It’s a common mistake,” Mizi added calmly. “It usually happens when people rush this step.”

There was no scolding. No harsh correction.

Sua felt something tighten inside her. Not instantly, but clearly. Irritation with no logical reason, but growing anyway. Her fingers tightened around her pencil harder than necessary.

She’s an idiot.

The thought appeared without a filter.

Not because of the mistake itself, but because someone had to be really stupid to mess up something that simple. And what irritated her most was how easily Mizi let it slide. The way she softened it, like it didn’t matter. Like it was okay to do badly.

Why had Mizi picked that girl?

In the end, she did everything wrong. Sua wouldn’t have made that mistake. She knew she wouldn’t have. The teacher should choose better from now on.

Her grip tightened further. The graphite scraped against the paper without writing anything.

Mizi corrected the step, explained it briefly, and let the student finish. When she did, Mizi nodded and allowed her to return to her seat.

“Good,” she said, turning back toward the class. “Did anyone else solve it?” Several hands rose again. Sua’s didn’t. She stayed still, staring at her notebook even though she wasn’t reading anything. Her pencil remained motionless between her fingers.

She felt Mizi’s gaze before seeing it. Mizi was looking at her. What was she expecting?

Sua didn’t look up. She chose not to react, keeping the same posture as if it had nothing to do with her.

“You?” Mizi said, pointing at another classmate. Sua lifted her eyes slightly.

The girl stood and walked to the board. This time she looked more confident. She followed the steps correctly.

Mizi watched without interrupting. When she finished, she smiled more noticeably than before. “Very good,” she said. “Exactly.” Sua looked away.

Then Mizi began explaining the process from the board, calmly reviewing each step like always. Her voice filled the room, clear and steady.

But Sua wasn’t listening anymore.

The words reached her ears but didn’t stay. They blended with the general murmur, the scratching pencils, the sound of paper moving. Everything blurred into distant background noise.

Her eyes remained fixed on a line in her notebook that led nowhere. The pencil moved again, tracing meaningless shapes, barely pressing against the paper.

She didn’t look up again. Didn’t participate again.

Time passed without any clear sense of it, without distinct moments, until the bell suddenly rang and cut through the air.

Chairs scraped against the floor. Backpacks zipped shut. Voices returned all at once like they’d been held back the entire class.

Sua didn’t move immediately. She closed her notebook calmly and put her pencil away without rushing, like always.

“Before you leave…” Mizi said from the front of the classroom, her tone lighter now, almost playful as she rested one hand against the desk. “Could someone stay and help me tidy up a little? The cleaners are starting to complain about us.”

A few students laughed quietly.

There was a second of silence, that awkward moment where nobody wanted to volunteer. Mizi didn’t wait long. “Sua,” she said, turning slightly toward her. “Could you help me?”

The looks came before Sua could react.

Several heads turned toward her automatically, like hearing her name alone was enough. She felt the weight of that immediately.

Slowly, she looked up at her teacher. “Yes…” she answered quietly. She didn’t look at anyone else.

Some students were already leaving. Others simply continued gathering their things. Within seconds the classroom began to empty.

Sua stood and started moving the desks. It wasn’t difficult. Just straightening the rows, pushing chairs back into place. Her movements were precise and mechanical, though there was something else hidden inside them. A little more force than necessary, maybe.

Behind her, Mizi erased the board.

The sound of chalk against the eraser filled the empty classroom, dry and repetitive. Then she started organizing her things, stacking papers, closing books, moving without hurry.

Soon, they were alone.

Sua walked toward the back of the room where a broom rested against the wall. She bent slightly to grab it.

“Sua.” The voice came from near the desk. She turned her head slightly but didn’t answer yet. “Don’t get frustrated just because you’re not chosen sometimes,” Mizi said softly, her voice lower than during class. “I already know you did it correctly.” A brief pause. “I still have to teach twenty five other students too, okay?”

Sua froze.

Heat rushed to her face before she could stop it. Her fingers tightened around the broomstick.

“I-I wasn’t frustrated,” she replied, though her voice lacked conviction.

Mizi tilted her head slightly while watching her. “It’s okay to feel upset,” she continued, stepping a little closer without fully invading her space yet. “You knew you had the answer.”

Sua finally looked up and their eyes met immediately.

“But I knew that too,” Mizi added. “I have to check your classmates’ progress.” A short pause. “You know you’re doing well. I know it too. There’s nothing to check.”

The silence afterward felt different. Sua let go of the broom without realizing it immediately. The handle hit the wall softly. “But you didn’t really point out their mistakes either…” she said, more firmly this time, though still quiet. “I don’t think they’ll understand properly like that…”

The words came out faster than she intended.

Mizi raised an eyebrow. “So now a child is going to tell me how to teach?” She didn’t sound angry. More passively mocking than anything else.

Sua took half a step back. “No, I didn’t mean it like that, I just…”

She didn’t even get to finish.

Mizi closed the distance between them without warning, enough that Sua had to tilt her head up slightly to look at her. It wasn’t rough, but it was direct.

Sua stayed completely still.

“It’s okay,” Mizi said quietly. “I know you’re my best student.”

Sua froze when she felt her teacher’s hands rest against her waist. It wasn’t forceful. More like a caress. She could tell that despite how natural it looked, Mizi herself wasn’t entirely sure about what she was doing.

Her neck burned, and the older woman’s gaze only made it worse.

“Thank you, teacher.”

Thursday arrived without any surprises.

Sua opened her eyes a few seconds before the alarm rang. She didn’t sit up immediately. She stayed there staring at the ceiling, still, letting the room slowly adjust to the dim morning light. There was nothing special about that day anyway. It didn’t matter much. Friday would come eventually.

She got up calmly, pushing the blankets aside and placing her feet against the cold floor. She went to the bathroom, washed her face, and got dressed in her uniform without rushing. Every movement followed the usual order. Shirt properly adjusted, skirt in place, hair neat. She packed her backpack, checking out of habit that nothing was missing even though she rarely forgot anything, then headed downstairs for breakfast.

The kitchen was quiet when she walked in.

Her parents were already seated at the table. Her mother drank coffee while looking at something on her phone; her father had the newspaper open in front of him, though he didn’t really seem to be reading it. There was toast, cut fruit, and a cup already prepared for her.

She sat down without saying anything and started eating calmly.

For a few minutes, the only sounds were small ones: silverware, a cup being placed back on the table, the rustle of newspaper pages turning.

Then, almost at the same time, her parents seemed to snap back into awareness.

Her mother set her phone aside and smiled with slightly sudden enthusiasm. She asked if Sua had slept well, if she needed anything for school. Her father added some comment about the weather, then about how fast she was growing up, like he wanted to join the conversation without really knowing how.

Sua listened while chewing. “Is my sister not coming home today?” she asked.

The question came out simply, without any particular intention.

Her father froze slightly. Not dramatically, just a tiny interruption in the movement of lifting his cup. His eyes dropped toward the tablecloth before looking back up again, but he said nothing.

Her mother answered first. “We don’t know, sweetheart.” Her tone was gentle.

Sua nodded faintly and didn’t ask anything else. She finished what remained on her plate, drank the last sip from her cup, and stood up. “I’m leaving,” she said.

Her mother responded with something affectionate. Her father muttered for her to have a good day.

She was already grabbing her backpack.

The morning air was cool. She walked toward school along the same familiar route without paying much attention to her surroundings. The streets carried that calm early morning movement: rushed people, passing cars, storefronts just beginning to open.

She didn’t think much about the conversation at breakfast.

By the time she arrived, the school was already awake. Voices echoed through the hallways, doors opened and closed, footsteps hurried between classrooms. She checked her schedule out of habit even though she already knew it by heart.

First period on Thursdays was religion class. She wasn’t bad at the subject, though she was rarely bad at anything.

She arrived while there were still a couple minutes before the bell. She entered quietly without drawing attention to herself. Some classmates were already seated, talking among themselves in that messy pre class volume. Others continued filing in, dropping backpacks onto desks, switching seats at the last second, deciding who to sit beside.

Sua walked straight to her usual seat in the middle, where she could see the board clearly without feeling exposed. She set her backpack down, pulled out the correct notebook and pencil case, lining them up neatly on the desk with her usual precision. She sat up straight, adjusted her skirt automatically, and waited.

The bell rang shortly afterward.

The religion teacher entered almost immediately. He was an older man with a calm voice, the kind who always seemed to move at the same measured pace, as if nothing could truly disrupt his rhythm. He greeted the class, placed a folder on the desk, and started speaking while removing his coat.

“Good morning.” Some students answered. Others didn’t.

Sua opened her notebook and carefully wrote the date in the upper corner. The class began normally.

The teacher continued a topic they’d started the previous week, something about communities, shared values, and responsibility toward others. Sua paid attention. Not because she found it especially interesting, but because it was easy for her to follow when someone explained things clearly. She wrote down several notes, looked toward the front occasionally.

The classroom was quieter than usual that morning. Maybe because of the early hour, maybe because the teacher never needed to demand much to maintain order.

It didn’t take long before someone knocked on the door. The teacher stopped mid sentence and looked up. “Come in.”

The door opened, revealing the principal.

His presence changed the atmosphere instantly, even before he spoke. Several students straightened automatically. Others hurriedly hid things they weren’t even using.

“Good morning,” he said while stepping inside just enough to look over the class. “Sorry for interrupting.”

The teacher nodded politely. “Not a problem.”

The principal rested a hand against the doorframe. “I wanted to ask whether the class representatives have been chosen yet.”

A brief silence followed before multiple voices answered at once.

“No.”

“Not yet.”

“Still haven’t.”

The principal sighed patiently rather than angrily. He glanced toward the teacher, who set the chalk aside.

“We can use a few minutes of class to settle it,” the teacher said. “That way it’s done already.”

The principal nodded. “Perfect. The sooner the better.” Then he looked back at the class. “So. Who wants to volunteer?”

The room fell quiet for a second. Not because nobody was interested, but because nobody wanted to be the first to expose themselves.

Then several hands slowly began to rise.

A girl from the second row whose name Sua couldn’t remember. Acorn, lifting her hand stiffly like she regretted it the moment she did. And Ivan, smiling lazily while leaning back in his chair like the entire thing was some private joke.

Sua watched without changing expression. She didn’t care much about things like this.

The teacher crossed his arms and looked at the three volunteers.

“Are you serious about it?” he asked calmly. “It’s not just having your name on a list.” He stepped away from the desk and slowly walked across the front of the classroom. “Being a representative means responsibility. Going to meetings with other representatives. Acting as a mediator if problems come up. Bringing class concerns or ideas to the administration.”

He paused briefly. “Sometimes it also means staying behind with teachers privately to discuss certain situations involving the class.”

The sentence sounded simple, but it didn’t pass simply through Sua. Her hand lifted before she could really think about it. She didn’t even have time to question why she was doing it. She just knew she couldn’t stay still while others volunteered.

The teacher noticed immediately. “Good. One more.”

Ivan turned toward her. First surprised, then grinning with those uneven canine teeth Sua had always found disgusting, almost wet looking, like they didn’t fit properly in his mouth.

She rolled her eyes faintly and looked away.

The principal seemed satisfied. “Perfect. I’ll leave you to the vote then. Let me know afterward who gets chosen.” Nobody answered clearly, but it was enough. He left as quickly as he’d arrived, closing the door behind him.

The teacher returned to the front. “Alright,” he said. “We’ll keep this simple.”

He picked up a piece of chalk and wrote four large initials on the board, one beneath another, each corresponding to a candidate. Then he opened a desk drawer, pulled out several blank sheets of paper, and began cutting them into equal strips using a ruler and small scissors.

The dry sound of paper being cut filled the room.

“I’m giving each of you one piece,” he explained. “Write the initial of the person you vote for and hand it back folded.”

Murmurs immediately spread around the classroom.

Ivan pushed a hand through his hair, smug for no visible reason.

Sua didn’t look at anyone. She already knew what she was going to write. Of course she was voting for herself.

The teacher finished handing out the paper strips one by one, walking between the rows with the same calm pace as always. Each student received one, and the classroom filled with small movements: people leaning over desks, searching for pencils at the last second, covering what they wrote as though it genuinely needed secrecy.

Sua held the paper delicately between two fingers.

It was small, barely large enough for a single letter. She turned it once before lowering her pencil.

She didn’t hesitate.

She wrote a clean S.

Then folded the paper neatly in half and left it at the edge of her desk until the teacher came around collecting them.

She didn’t look around. Or at least not obviously.

Even so, she could still hear the low whispers between classmates, the laughter from those taking the whole thing less seriously, the rustling of folded papers. Ivan was saying something in the back of the room. Several students laughed. Sua didn’t bother listening.

Once the teacher finished collecting the votes, he returned to the desk and arranged the folded slips in front of him.

“Quiet for a moment,” he requested.

He didn’t need to repeat himself. The classroom gradually settled into that expectant silence that appears whenever something small suddenly matters more than it should.

The teacher unfolded the first paper.

“I.”

He marked a tally beneath the corresponding letter.

Another slip.

“D.”

Another mark.

Then another.

“S.”

Sua didn’t react.

She kept staring ahead, hands folded calmly atop the desk like none of it mattered. Like she wasn’t counting.

Another.

The rhythm continued. Letters repeated in different orders, separated by the dry scrape of chalk marking tally lines beneath each initial.

Sua kept her eyes fixed somewhere near the board without moving much. But every time she heard S, something inside her tightened slightly. She hadn’t expected it this much.

She knew she wasn’t unpopular. Nor invisible. But she had never tried to occupy a visible place in anything, especially not something chosen by other people.

Hearing her initial repeated like that felt strange.

Almost unreal.

“S.”

Again.

She lowered her gaze slightly toward her closed notebook.

She didn’t want anything to show on her face.

Someone whistled quietly. Another student laughed when Ivan celebrated one of his own votes by throwing his arms up like an idiot. The teacher told him to behave without much seriousness.

As the counting continued, it became obvious Acorn was falling behind. Most votes concentrated around three names.

The final handful of papers narrowed the gap even more. The teacher unfolded another. By then almost everything had been counted. Only one folded strip remained on the desk.

The entire classroom noticed at once.

Ivan already had the highest number of votes. That much seemed guaranteed. But second place was tied. Sua finally looked directly at the board. I had one more tally than everyone else. S and D were equal. A sat much lower beneath them.

A small hollow feeling opened inside her stomach. The teacher picked up the last folded paper with agonizing calmness. Several students leaned forward.

“…S.”

The murmuring exploded immediately. Not loudly, but instantly. Crossed conversations, spontaneous congratulations, Ivan slamming his palm against the desk like he’d personally won something important too.

The teacher raised a hand to settle them. “Alright then. It’s decided.” He turned back toward the board and underlined two initials. “Ivan and Sua will be the class representatives.”

Sua blinked once. She didn’t smile. Didn’t say anything. But the feeling rose from her chest to her throat like dry heat. It wasn’t simple happiness, it was something firmer. A certainty difficult to name.

The teacher set the chalk down.

“You two,” he said, looking between them, “go to the principal’s office and let him know the representatives have been chosen.”

Ivan stood up immediately, stretching lazily like he’d just woken up.

“With pleasure,” he said dramatically.

A few students laughed.

Sua calmly packed her things and stood up afterward. She could feel eyes on her, but she didn’t return the looks. She walked toward the door without hurrying.

Ivan stepped out first.

The hallway was quieter than the classroom. Other classes were still going on, so only distant footsteps and occasional voices behind closed doors could be heard.

They walked several steps in silence before Ivan tilted his head toward her. “Kind of weird that you volunteered.”

Sua kept staring ahead. “Is that any of your business?” Her tone came out flat. Sharp.

Ivan let out a quiet laugh through his nose. “I guess everyone’s got dirty laundry.”

She turned her head slightly and looked at him with dull, empty eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He kept walking with his hands in his pockets, expression relaxed, like he hadn’t said anything important at all. Sua immediately felt tension build at the back of her neck.

What did he mean by that?

It didn’t sound random. Or maybe it did. With Ivan, it was hard to tell. But the thought appeared anyway. “Had he noticed something?” “Had he caught her looking at Mizi too much?” “Had he heard something?” “Understood something before she herself had?”

She watched him for another second, but he didn’t look back at her again. He simply whistled some random tune while continuing down the hallway toward the principal’s office, like the comment no longer belonged to him.

Friday started off well.

Sua opened her eyes a few minutes before her alarm rang and stayed still, staring at the ceiling with that uncomfortable feeling of waiting for something before even being fully awake.

It didn’t take her long to remember what it was. Last period: math. That thought alone was enough to make her sit up.

She got ready through the usual routine. Neatly arranged uniform, hair in place, backpack checked twice even though it wasn’t necessary. She went downstairs for breakfast with an outward calmness.

Her parents talked about small things, scattered comments she answered with quiet one word replies. Nothing unusual. But internally, the day had already split into two parts.

Everything before math class. And math class itself.

The first lessons passed without difficulty. Language arts, then science, then another heavier class she barely retained anything from.

She took notes, answered when necessary, maintained her usual proper posture and calm expression. Nobody would’ve thought anything was bothering her. Still, she checked the time more often than usual.

During breaks she did nothing differently. Sat where she always did, watched the same things, ignored other people’s conversations.

The only difference was the constant anticipation, that invisible line dragging her toward the end of the day. Now she was a class representative. The word still echoed strangely in her mind. Not exactly because of pride, though there was some of that too.

More because of what it meant to be able to tell Mizi.

Without fully admitting it to herself, she imagined the scene several times: walking up to the desk, handing over perfectly solved exercises, casually mentioning she’d been chosen. Mizi smiling.

Maybe saying she wasn’t surprised, maybe something more. She thought about it more than once.

When the bell for the final period finally rang, she felt relief. She grabbed her things and walked toward the math classroom at a measured pace without speeding up, even though internally everything moved faster. She entered and sat in her usual seat.

The class was still settling down when Mizi appeared at the doorway with the same naturalness as always. She greeted everyone with a brief smile, placed her materials on the desk, and picked up a piece of chalk.

“Good afternoon.” Several students responded halfheartedly. Others barely looked up. Mizi didn’t insist. She turned toward the board and neatly wrote down the new topic. Then she immediately began explaining, linking concepts together with that calmness that made even dense material seem simple. She walked while speaking, stopped occasionally to emphasize something important, returned to writing whenever necessary.

Sua followed effortlessly. Lately, math had become different. Lighter. What used to require concentration now seemed to unfold naturally in front of her. Patterns repeated themselves, mistakes became obvious the moment they appeared, and solving things no longer felt like struggle. Once Mizi finished explaining, she set the chalk down and wrote several exercises in organized columns. “I want you to try these on your own first,” she said. “So I can see whether you understood.” The classroom slipped into that uneven working silence. Pages opening, pencils moving, quiet complaints from students already lost before they even started.

Sua began immediately.

Everything came out clean and nearly automatic. She didn’t need to look around to know she was ahead. She could feel it in everyone else’s slower rhythm, in their pauses, in the whispers of confusion beginning to spread around the room.

She finished quickly and reviewed her work once. No mistakes.

She closed her notebook slightly, picked it up, and stood. Then she walked toward the desk while trying to hide the nervousness visible even in the way she placed each step.

Mizi was checking papers when she noticed her. “Already?” she asked, extending a hand.

Sua nodded and handed over the open notebook, already flipped to the correct page. She stayed standing there while her teacher began correcting with a red pen.

Without consciously meaning to, she had positioned herself close enough that the desk almost completely blocked the view of her legs from the rest of the classroom.

It wasn’t planned. It just happened.

At first Mizi held the notebook with both hands while carefully reviewing the exercises. Then she looked to her right, toward Sua.

“Did I do something wrong?” Sua asked quietly, glancing between her teacher’s face and the marked calculations on the page. There was genuine concern in her voice, however slight.

One of Mizi’s hands released the notebook. The other still held the red pen. “Not at all,” she answered calmly. The reply came at the exact same time as the movement. Her arm lowered with deceptive casualness beneath the protection of the desk. Her hand reached one of Sua’s legs and gently stroked upward as far as the desk allowed. A slow, controlled touch. Almost absentminded in appearance. Mizi briefly glanced toward the classroom to make sure nobody was approaching, then lightly squeezed the girl’s thin thigh.

Sua trembled. Not dramatically. Nothing visible to anyone else. Just an internal interruption. A brief electric shock that left her frozen. The air caught in her chest and for one second she forgot why she’d even walked up there. She wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

Mizi had already withdrawn her hand. She returned the notebook with the same calmness she used while correcting any other assignment. “Good work.” Nothing in her voice betrayed anything.

Sua took the notebook without fully coordinating her fingers. She stared at Mizi in silent confusion, like she needed to confirm that what she’d felt had actually happened.

But Mizi was already looking toward another student at the back of the classroom who seemed ready to stand up.

Sua returned to her seat, cheeks burning. She sat down faster than usual, opened her notebook, and fixed her eyes on the corrected page. The red markings were still there. Small and precise. Visible proof of something completely different from the thing leaving her frozen. She could still feel the spot on her thigh, warm. Or maybe cold. She couldn’t tell anymore. It took several seconds for her breathing to settle properly. She grabbed her pencil just to give her hands something to do, but she didn’t write anything. The tip rested motionless against the paper.

At the front of the room, Mizi continued moving between desks, helping students with questions, leaning over notebooks, explaining things with the same patience as always. Like nothing had happened.

Sua lowered her gaze again. The rest of the class turned into distant noise. Voices. Footsteps. Chairs scraping. Questions. Answers. Everything was still there, just muffled behind the lingering sensation in her body and the fixed thought that she had missed the exact right moment.

When the bell rang, it found her still staring at the same line in her notebook without having read a single word.