A heavy mist blanketed SM Putra that morning. Last night’s heavy rain had lowered the temperature enough to make the school look like a Silent Hill setup—minus the roaming monsters.

On the road, Faizal tuned in to his favourite radio station. At least it helped with his cold intolerance.

“Oh, nice, Take Heart by The Sam Willows is on the radio.”

Faizal sang from his heart the moment the chorus played. He even forgot about the cold weather entirely.

Two figures stood at the school gate.

A tall, lanky man and a medium-height woman.

Megat and Syarah.

Faizal’s Toyota Corolla slowly entered the gate.

Megat immediately stopped him.

“Singing with the window open, huh?”

Faizal looked at him blankly for a second.

“…You heard that?”

“The whole gate heard that.”

Beside him, Syarah quietly covered her face.

“The students are going to think our teachers are having a karaoke competition this early in the morning.”

Nazha casually approached them while singing a snippet of Take Heart.

Megat, Syarah, and Faizal widened their eyes simultaneously.

Then, she stopped walking.

“…Why are all of you staring at me like that?” she asked cautiously. “Is there something on my face?”

Syarah tilted her head slightly.

“Oh my… what do we have here?”

Nazha squinted immediately.

“What?”

Faizal finally pointed at her.

“You can actually sing.”

A brief silence followed.

Because honestly—

None of them expected Nazha’s voice to be that melodious.

Faizal finally parked his car by the roadside.

A few minutes later, Noel entered through the school gate in his usual class monitor attire—a red shirt that stood out against the pale morning mist.

Under the dim lighting, his midnight-blue hair almost looked black.

He slowed slightly upon noticing the teachers gathered near the gate.

Then he greeted them politely.

“Good morning, teachers.”

They greeted Noel in return, and he continued his way into the school.

Nazha excused herself shortly after, heading toward her first lesson of the day—2 Ukhuwah.

Back at 2 Ukhuwah, the air was still fresh, but the students were not. The cold weather made them a little sleepy.

“Alright, everyone. Stand up. We’re going to do some refreshers.”

Nazha brought up a tongue twister on the projector, its words displayed across the whiteboard.

“Alright,” she said. “Say this together.”

“How can a clam cram in a clean cream can?”

The classroom reacted in three very different ways.

Noel read it once under his breath.

Slowly.

Carefully.

His brows tightened slightly as he tried to map the sounds in his head before speaking them.

“…How can a clam… cram in a clean… cream can?”

He stopped halfway, hesitated, then tried again—but one word came out slightly off.

He froze immediately, as he had just committed a crime.

Sasha was already smiling before she even tried.

She leaned slightly toward her partner.

“Ok, I try ah—”

She said it, but her grammar instinct and tongue collided halfway, turning the sentence into something slightly broken and rushed.

Still understandable.

Still confident.

Just… not clean.

She laughed softly at herself.

Rachel didn’t speak immediately.

She looked at the sentence on the screen rather than at the teacher.

Her eyes tracked the words slowly, breaking them into parts.

She mouthed it silently first.

No sound.

Only movement.

Then she tried, carefully:

“…How can a… clam cram… in a clean… cream can…”

She paused longer than the others.

But she finished it.

Quietly.

Nazha observed them without interrupting.

No correction yet.

Just watching.

Because in this moment, she wasn’t testing pronunciation.

She was seeing how each student handled being heard.

The lesson proceeded with readings from the screen. It was ‘My Hero’ by Willis Hall.

Nazha gestured lightly.

“Alright, we’ll read this together. Take turns.”

The class shifted into reading mode.

Noel went first.

His eyes stayed locked on the screen longer than necessary, as if giving himself extra time to prepare before speaking.

He started carefully.

“…My… hero…”

He paused again.

The next line came slower, his voice slightly tighter.

A few words came out uncertain—his pronunciation not fully steady, as if he were constantly checking himself mid-sound.

Halfway through a sentence, he hesitated.

His lips parted, then closed again.

For a moment, he didn’t continue.

Not because he didn’t know the words—

But because he wasn’t sure how they would come out.

He tried again, softer this time, as if lowering his voice would reduce the chance of mistake.

Still, he continued.

Carefully.

Uneasily.

But he didn’t stop.

Sasha followed after him, more fluid, while Rachel took her time translating the words visually before speaking them.

Nazha observed quietly.

No correction yet.

Just noticing who was afraid of speaking—and who wasn’t.

The class ended and was followed by Visual Arts and Music.

Noel headed toward the music room, while Sasha and Rachel remained for Visual Arts.

Nazha walked back to Bilik Sahsiah to record the day’s reflection.

Faizal leaned slightly over her desk, casually peeking at her lesson plan.

“Pronunciation issue, huh?”

Nazha didn’t look up. “You read very fast for someone who claims to be busy.”

Faizal ignored that.

“So what did he struggle with?”

Nazha tapped her pen once.

“Mainly consonant clusters.”

Faizal nodded like he understood everything.

Nazha finally added, “He keeps overthinking simple words.”

Faizal tilted his head. “Give me an example.”

Nazha flipped a page and recalled.

“Like… he read hero as ‘hee-roh’… then stopped halfway through, afraid because he wasn’t sure if it was ‘af-rayed’ or ‘ah-frade’.”

Faizal blinked.

“That second one is creative.”

Nazha continued flatly.

“And school came out as ‘skoo-luh’ when he got nervous.”

Faizal tried not to laugh.

“He sounds like he’s negotiating with the English language.”

Nazha finally looked at him.

“He is.”

Faizal leaned back.

“…Poor kid.”

Nazha returned to her notes.

“Not poor. Just being careful.”

And maybe—too careful about his own good.

Nazha excused herself to walk around the school.

As she passed near the music room, a voice drifted through the corridor.

Soft. Careful. Slightly uncertain—but trying.

“…Oh holy night…”

It was Noel.

Inside, Razis stood at the front, guiding the students through the song with calm, steady instruction.

“Don’t hide your voice,” he said gently. “Confidence first. Pitch later.”

Noel tried again.

This time louder.

Still not perfect.

But more open.

Nazha paused by the door, not interrupting.

For a moment, she just listened.

The same student who had hesitated during reading earlier was now trying to project his voice in song.

Not corrected into perfection—

but guided into courage.

She continued walking slowly.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, she noted something important:

Noel didn’t need fewer mistakes.

He needed less fear of making them.

As the class ended, Nazha approached Razis.

She handed him a small note of her next lesson plan—still warm from her thoughts.

“I’m thinking of something to help students like Noel,” she said.

Razis lifted his eyebrows slightly.

“An English song singing lesson?”

Nazha didn’t hesitate.

Her eyes lit up with quiet enthusiasm.

“Yes!”

Razis studied her for a moment, then let out a small exhale—half amused, half approving.

“That’s… actually not a bad idea,” he said slowly. “If they’re afraid of speaking, singing might loosen them first.”

Nazha nodded once, already thinking ahead.

“Exactly. They stop focusing on correctness when they focus on rhythm.”

Razis tapped his desk lightly.

“Just don’t turn it into a concert competition.”

Nazha smiled.

“No promises.”

A few minutes before recess started, Nazha gave a brief explanation to the class.

The next lesson would be held in the music room.

A Masked Singer activity.

She would be evaluating their speaking and listening skills—the rest was meant to be fun.

Sasha immediately threw her arms up.

“Duet it is!”

Her eyes flicked toward Rachel. She already knew Rachel struggled with fluent reading, so she decided without hesitation.

Rachel gave a small nod. No protest. Just understanding.

At the back, Noel opened his worn songbook—pages filled with his favourite English lyrics, neatly copied and underlined in places.

He flipped through it slowly.

Not choosing randomly.

Choosing carefully.

Like each song had to pass an invisible test before he dared to use his voice again.

And Nazha noticed that too.

Faizal was still in the Bilik Sahsiah, completely in his own world.

The Sam Willows’ Take Heart was playing loudly through his earphones, and he was fully committed—bopping his head, tapping the desk, even silently screaming the chorus like it was a stadium performance.

Unfortunately, so was the rest of his body language.

The door swung open.

“SIR! I HAVE A GRAND PLAN!”

Nazha barged in with full momentum.

Faizal jolted so hard he nearly fell off his chair.

He stumbled backwards, catching himself on the table.

One earphone flew out.

Faizal blinked at her.

“…You almost ended my music career.”

Nazha didn’t even pause.

“I need your approval.”

Faizal slowly straightened up, still recovering.

“…For what now?”

“Observe me. I promise it’ll be fun.”

Faizal adjusted his glasses slightly.

“The Masked Singer thing?”

Nazha nodded enthusiastically.

“Speaking and listening assessment,” she explained. “Disguised as entertainment.”

Faizal tilted his glasses higher.

“No problem. But I’m counting this as your first observation.”

Nazha’s lips curled upward immediately.

“Bold of you to assume I won’t pass.”

The day of the Masked Singer finally arrived.

The music room was far louder than usual.

Some students adjusted their masks. Others laughed at their friends’ dramatic song choices. A few were already treating the room like a real competition stage.

At the very back, Faizal entered with a clipboard in hand.

“Wah,” he muttered. “You really turned an English lesson into a concert.”

Beside him, Razis crossed his arms calmly.

“I told you she was serious.”

Faizal glanced around the room again.

“…Why does this look more organised than some school events?”

Razis gave a short shrug.

“She likes structured chaos.”

“Alright, everyone,” Nazha announced. “Today is simple.”

She pointed at the masks.

“You are not singers today.”

Then she pointed gently toward them instead.

“You are people trying to use your voice anyway.”

A few turns had passed.

Sasha and Rachel had just finished singing Take Me Down by One Direction together.

Sasha carried most of the confidence.

Rachel carried most of the focus.

And somehow, the duet worked.

The class applauded loudly as the two returned to their seats, laughing behind their masks.

Nazha glanced at the next name on the list.

Then toward the back row.

“…Alright,” she announced gently. “Next up is Noel.”

A few students immediately leaned forward in anticipation.

Noel slowly stood up from his chair.

In his hands was the same worn songbook from before.

He walked toward the front with measured steps before stopping near the standing microphone.

Then he looked at the song title projected on the screen.

I Want It That Way by Backstreet Boys

From behind the observer's corner, Faizal quietly muttered:

“Oh. Brave choice.”

Razis nodded once.

“Very word-heavy song.”

Noel tightened his grip slightly around the microphone.

Not enough for others to notice.

But enough for Nazha to see.

The room slowly quietened.

And for the first time that morning—

Noel had nowhere to hide except behind the mask.

The instrumental began softly through the classroom speaker.

Noel inhaled once behind the mask.

Then he sang.

“You are… my fire…”

The first line came out carefully.

The second came steadier.

By the chorus, something shifted.

Noel stopped monitoring every syllable.

Stopped pausing between words.

Stopped fearing how his pronunciation sounded.

He simply followed the rhythm.

And sang.

“Tell me why~”

Almost immediately, the class joined in.

Some off-key.

Some dramatically.

Some are just shouting for fun.

But Noel kept going.

Louder this time.

Freer.

Like the mask had removed something heavier than just visibility.

At the back, Faizal slowly lowered his clipboard.

“…Okay,” he admitted quietly. “That kid can sing.”

Beside him, Razis nodded in approval.

“He was never lacking voice,” he murmured. “Just confidence.”

Meanwhile, Nazha observed silently from the side.

Not the singing.

The pronunciation.

The flow.

The reduced hesitation.

Earlier that morning, Noel could barely finish certain lines while reading aloud.

Now?

The words connected naturally through rhythm.

Not perfect.

But no longer trapped in fear.

And that—

was enough progress for her.

The class thundered with applause the moment the song ended.

Behind the mask, Noel finally smiled.

A real one.

Nazha looked at him from the front of the room.

Then she asked calmly,

“Tell me how you feel today.”

Noel blinked once, clearly caught off guard by the sudden question.

But before overthinking could return, the answer slipped out naturally.

“…Happy,” he admitted softly. “And… less scared, I think.”

The words came out imperfectly.

But uninterrupted.

At the back, Faizal slowly looked toward Razis.

“…She tested him just now, didn’t she?”

Razis nodded once.

“Speaking assessment.”

Meanwhile, Nazha quietly marked something on her clipboard.

Because little did Noel know—

That simple question had never been random.

It was her way of seeing whether he could still speak once the music disappeared.

Faizal leaned back in his chair, watching Noel return to his seat as the class slowly settled down.

He tapped his pen once against the clipboard.

Then spoke, quietly—but with certainty.

“…He’s not afraid of English.”

He added, “He’s afraid of himself when he speaks it.”

He glanced at Nazha.

“That’s not a pronunciation issue anymore.”

A small smile formed at the corner of his mouth.

“That’s recovery work.”

Razis nodded beside him.

Nazha didn’t respond immediately.

She just looked at Noel’s seat.

And for once—

She didn’t write down what he got wrong.

Only what had started to change.

Nazha looked at Noel for a moment longer, then quietly marked her final note on the clipboard.

Faizal said nothing this time—just a small nod, as if something had been confirmed.

And in the back of the room, the noise slowly faded into something softer… like understanding.