Bleep.
Nazha’s phone lit up before she even reached the classroom door.
A Telegram notification from the Practicum group.
She tapped it open.
Assalamualaikum and greetings,
Please ensure that you have informed your supervisor to observe and evaluate your lesson twice each month. The evaluation form must be submitted to the supervising lecturer via email.
Regards,
Admin
Nazha stared at the message for a moment longer than necessary.
Two observations a month.
Two versions of her teaching were measured and reviewed.
She locked her phone and slipped it into her bag.
The corridor outside was already carrying the sound of students settling into class.
And somewhere in that sound—
There was always a silence that did not behave like silence.
The sound of a heavy pickup truck entered the school compound.
Nazha turned.
A Mitsubishi Storm pulled in and stopped at the principal’s parking spot.
Megat stepped out.
Blue shirt. Blue tie. Black suit over it.
In one hand, a lunch box—likely his usual garlic bun.
He adjusted his suit and walked in.
Nazha watched briefly, then continued.
“Morning, Iz—Nazha,” Megat greeted.
Nazha raised an eyebrow. A small smirk followed—more annoyed than amused.
He kept slipping her government name.
“Morning, sir.”
Nazha paused.
“Oh—I’m supposed to meet him about the observation.”
She quickly made her way to the admin office to meet him.
She knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Megat said.
Nazha stepped inside and sat on one of the sofa chairs.
“Sir, about my observation,” she said. “I’d like to inform you that it will only be attended by Faizal. My lecturer won’t be coming to SM Putra for a live observation.”
Megat was silent for a moment.
“Oh, so I won’t be expecting any visitors then?” he said, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Yes,” Nazha replied.
Megat set his cup down.
“Still, you’re under my radar as the unofficial second evaluator,” he said, his gaze steady on her.
“I believe in you. You handled yourself well under pressure during that impromptu observation by PPDKB last week.”
A small smile formed.
Nazha excused herself and went to Bilik Sahsiah to inform Faizal about the latest update from her university.
“Thank you for believing in me, sir,” she said softly.
Megat watched her leave.
“Hm…” he murmured.
He was still expecting someone else.
Back at the gate, a stocky boy in a yellow prefect uniform stood on duty, noting down students who broke the rules.
Randell.
From 2 Ikhlas.
Always quiet. Always observing.
Syarah, also on gate duty, listed the rules the students had broken.
“Unkept hair. Tinted lip balm. Colourful socks.”
The list went on.
Randell kept writing their names—and their mistakes.
After his gate duty finished, Randell excused himself to class.
Syarah glanced at Hamizah.
“Honestly, that boy is too stoic for a prefect,” she said.
Hamizah hummed lightly.
“But in class…” Syarah added, watching his back disappear into the corridor, “he’s different.”
Faizal—the ever-playful supervisor outside of class—noticed his demure supervisee approaching.
He curled his lips into a cat-like smile, already anticipating what she came for.
“Sir, there is—”
“Observation?” Faizal cut in. “I still can’t get over your reaction in front of Muhamad from PPDKB last time. You were almost breaking, but you nailed it.”
He laughed lightly.
Nazha pouted to herself.
“Typical Faizal.”
Faizal pulled out his calendar and a red marker.
He slid it across the table.
“You pick the date,” he said. “Your observation.”
Nazha took it and circled the fourth week of March twice.
2 Ikhlas. 2 Amanah. Tuesday.
A week and a half of preparation for each cycle.
She paused, then moved on to the next month.
April. May.
2 Ukhuwah was placed there.
She adjusted the schedule again—shifting, balancing, aligning the three classes across six observation slots.
Faizal watched the marked pages.
“You’re a busy bee,” he said lightly.
She replied, “Things I chose—to become a teacher like you. You’re also a juggler.”
Faizal didn’t look offended. Instead, he looked amused.
“Only teachers understand teachers,” he said lightly.
Nazha packed her things and went to 2 Ikhlas afterwards.
The classroom was already awake when Nazha stepped in.
Not noisy. Not chaotic.
Just… structured sound.
Pens tapping. Chairs shifting. Low conversations folded into silence as she entered.
“Good morning, class.”
The room responded in unison.
“Good morning, teacher.”
Nazha scanned the room.
Some students were already halfway through their books. Others were still settling.
And then—
There was one pattern that didn’t match the rest.
A boy sat near the gate-side row.
Still. Upright. Not distracted.
Not disengaged either.
Just… observing.
He wasn’t the quiet type that fades into the background.
He was the kind who remained present without needing to announce it.
Randell.
Nazha wrote on the board:
“Do superstitions really affect our lives?”
She turned to the class.
“What do you think?”
A hand shot up almost immediately.
“Teacher, yes!” Reina said, already half-standing. “Like if a black cat crosses your path—bad luck!”
A few students murmured in agreement.
Asyera leaned back in her chair.
“But teacher, what if the cat is just walking?” she said, grinning. “It didn’t plan to give you bad luck.”
A small ripple of laughter spread across the room.
Another voice chimed in from the back.
“My grandma said, ' Cannot sit at the corner of the table,” someone added. “Later, no one will marry you.”
She stepped aside.
“Some people believe in them. Some don’t. But they still exist in many cultures.”
A pause.
“Today, we’re going to look at one example.”
She held up the worksheet.
“Superstitions in Korea.”
A few students leaned forward.
“As you read, I want you to focus on something specific.”
She tapped the paper lightly.
“You will decide whether the statements are true, false, or not stated.”
A hand went up.
“Teacher, what is ‘not stated’?”
Nazha smiled slightly.
“Good question.”
She wrote on the board:
- True → The answer is clearly in the text
- False → The text shows the opposite
- Not stated → the text does not mention it at all
“Don’t guess,” she added. “Use the text.”
She looked across the room.
“Read first. Then answer.”
“30 minutes just passed,” Nazha said. “Let’s go through the first question.”
A hand went up immediately.
“Teacher!” Reina called, already leaning forward. “Number one is true.”
Nazha nodded. “Why?”
Reina didn’t hesitate. “Because the passage says people in Korea believe writing names in red ink brings bad luck.”
Nazha scanned the class.
“Do all of you agree?”
A few students nodded.
Asyera tilted her head.
“But teacher,” she said, “what if it’s just… a preference? Like they just don’t like red?”
A few students chuckled.
Nazha smiled slightly.
“So is that in the text?” she asked.
Asyera paused.
“…No.”
“Then?”
Asyera sighed, grinning. “Okay, okay. True.”
Nazha nodded.
“Good. Always refer to the text.”
Nazha looked at the class.
“Number two?”
Reina’s hand went up again.
“False, teacher—”
Nazha raised her hand gently.
“Let’s hear from someone else this time.”
A brief pause.
The room shifted slightly.
Nazha’s eyes moved—then settled.
“Randell,” she called, her tone even. “What did you get?”
A few heads turned.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Randell looked up.
Just for a second.
“False,” he said.
No hesitation.
Nazha nodded.
“Why?”
A pause.
Short.
Measured.
“The text says the belief is common,” he replied, “but it doesn’t say everyone follows it.”
Silence.
Nazha held it for a second.
Then—
“Good,” she said.
She turned back to the class.
“So what does that tell us?”
“Q3 until Q10, do in pairs. Check your answers with evidence from the text.”
A pause.
“Not guessing. Prove it.”
Students shifted into pairs.
Reina instinctively turned.
Randell did not move first.
Q3–Q4: Confidence vs Evidence
Reina:
“Q3 is false, right? Because it sounds like an opinion.”
She spoke quickly, already halfway certain.
Randell:
Pointed to one line in the passage.
“Not stated,” he said.
Reina paused.
Read again.
“…oh.”
She underlined the sentence.
“Okay. Not stated.”
Nazha walked past.
No comment.
But she slowed for half a second.
Q5–Q6: First correction shift
Reina:
“This one, I think, is true because everyone does it.”
Randell:
“No.”
Just that.
Then:
“It says some people, not everyone.”
Reina blinked.
“…right.”
She corrected it immediately.
This time slower.
Nazha did not intervene.
But her eyes stayed longer on their desk before moving on.
Q7–Q8: Role inversion begins
Reina now paused first.
“Wait… I think I should check this one with you,” she said, looking at Randell.
Randell read.
Silent.
Then:
“False.”
Reina:
“Why?”
Randell pointed.
“Word ‘always’ is not in text.”
Reina nodded.
“Got it.”
She wrote it down carefully.
Nazha’s pen paused mid-note.
Just briefly.
Q9: Cognitive alignment moment
Reina:
“This one… I’m not sure.”
Randell:
Didn’t answer immediately.
Re-read.
Then:
“Not stated.”
Reina:
“…same?”
Randell nodded once.
Reina smiled slightly.
“Okay. Same.”
This time, she didn’t doubt him.
She verified with him.
Q10: Independent verification (final question)
Reina:
“Last one. I’ll try first.”
She read aloud quietly.
“…False.”
She looked at Randell.
Randell nodded.
“No contradiction in text.”
Reina leaned back.
“Okay. Confirmed.”
Reina was answering again—quick and confident.
Randell didn’t speak much.
He just pointed at the text, and Reina would adjust her answer.
Asyera glanced over.
“Eh… like teamwork lah,” she muttered softly.
Reina wrote.
Randell looked back down.
Asyera blinked, then returned to her own worksheet.
“Okay, okay… focus,” she said to herself.
She didn’t think about it again.
Nazha closed her notebook slightly.
Just a small movement.
Noted.
The class had already settled into the next activity.
Pens moved softly across paper.
Voices were lower now.
Nazha stood near the back of the room.
Notebook in hand.
But she wasn’t writing yet.
Reina was speaking less than before.
Checking more.
Pausing more.
Randell had barely spoken.
But every time he did, someone adjusted.
Nazha’s eyes moved slowly across the room.
Noticing.
Not teaching.
Just… observing.
She wrote one line.
Then stopped.
Another pause.
Her pen hovered again.
Then she wrote:
“Students do not learn the same way from the same input.”
She looked up again.
Reina was now waiting before answering.
Randell was still quiet—but no longer invisible in the way others overlooked him.
Nazha closed her notebook.
Just slightly.
Not finished thinking.
As she walked back to her table, one thought stayed longer than the rest.
“I didn’t change the content much…
But the responses changed everything.”
Randell finished first.
No announcement—just closed his worksheet and waited quietly.
Reina was still adjusting a few answers beside him, slower now than before.
Around them, other students compared corrections in low voices, copying, checking, and rewriting.
Randell glanced at the board once.
Then, they stayed silent.
The class continued working—even without Nazha speaking.
The teachers’ dining area was quieter than the corridor outside—less noise, more clatter of trays and slow conversations between tired lessons.
Nazha stepped in with a simple plate. Nothing elaborates. Just something to refill what the morning had drained.
Her eyes scanned briefly.
Faizal was there.
And Megat.
They sat at the same table, as if it had always been that way.
Faizal, with his usual calm posture, was eating without hurry.
Megat was leaning slightly back, looking like he was on break even when he wasn’t.
Nazha hesitated for a second.
Then walked over.
“Mind if I join?”
Megat glanced up first.
“Food is food,” he said lightly.
Faizal only nodded once.
She sat down.
A short silence settled—not awkward, just unclaimed.
Nazha broke it first.
“My class went longer than expected,” she said, adjusting her spoon. “Superstitions.”
Faizal looked at her.
Megat didn’t interrupt.
“It started with examples,” she continued. “Then they started checking each other’s answers instead of waiting for me.”
A small pause.
“I didn’t expect that part.”
Megat gave a small hum, almost amused.
“That usually means they were thinking.”
Nazha looked down at her plate.
“Or arguing,” she said.
Faizal finally spoke.
“Both can happen at the same time.”
A pause.
Then, softer:
“What matters is what they used to justify their answers.”
Nazha didn’t answer immediately.
That line stayed a little longer than the rest.
She stirred her food slowly.
“I think… they weren’t all using the same way to understand it,” she said finally.
A brief glance up.
“I just didn’t notice it clearly before.”
Megat smirked slightly.
“That’s normal. You’re still in the phase where you see the lesson, not the students inside it.”
Nazha gave a small, tired laugh.
“Comforting,” she said flatly.
Faizal looked at her then—not evaluating, not probing.
Just observing.
“You noticed it today,” he said.
A pause.
“That’s enough for now.”
The words weren’t heavy.
But they settled cleanly.
Nazha returned to her food.
Not rushing.
Not overthinking.
Just eating.
Around them, the dining area continued its quiet rhythm—teachers passing, conversations fading in and out, the school still moving even when lessons had paused.
And for Nazha, somewhere between exhaustion and awareness, one thought stayed behind:
teaching didn’t end when the bell rang—
It just changed rooms.
She took another bite.
And let the moment close itself.
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