It was a cold night.

The rain had been pouring relentlessly since 1800 hours, hammering against the windows of Nazha’s studio apartment.

Even inside the small room, the chill seemed to seep straight into her bones.

Nazha boiled herself a cup of tea before opening the fridge and taking out a jar of raspberry jam.

She stirred a spoonful into the tea, slowly recreating the taste of an Uzbek-style tea she had once read about.

The warmth settled into her body almost immediately.

Across from her, the glow of her laptop illuminated the dim apartment.

The Pendulum Dashboard was still open on the screen.

Syarah’s project.

The data itself was already complete.

But now came the harder part—

arranging it into something meaningful.

Nazha opened Isaac’s Drive and scrolled through the previous year’s UASA results for the Form 2 students.

1 Ikhlas.
1 Amanah.
1 Ukhuwah.

Click.

She went through the data quietly.

1 Ikhlas — out of 22 students, 10 obtained an A in English.
1 Amanah — out of 33 students, 20 passed, with 13 credits.
1 Ukhuwah — out of 30 students, only 5 passed.

Her eyes shifted toward the top students of each class.

Randell — straight As.
Hasya — English A, the rest passed.
Sasha — English D, the rest failed.

Nazha paused at Sasha’s result for a moment before continuing her work.

As she continued adding segments into the Pendulum Dashboard, her entire apartment suddenly went dark.

Blackout.

Nazha froze.

“…Oh, come on.”

She pushed her chair back and immediately tried to stand up—

only to slam her knee directly into the coffee table.

“OW—!”

Nazha bent over dramatically, clutching her knee in complete silence for three seconds before whisper-yelling into the darkness:

“This is workplace sabotage.”

The atmosphere felt different inside SM Putra’s Bilik Sahsiah. The sound of a keyboard typing still echoed through the room.

The rounding guard noticed Faizal still inside.

“You’re still here, sir? It’s already late,” the guard asked.

Faizal glanced at the clock.

7:10 p.m.

“I’m overtime again.”

Even the blackout had finally forced SM Putra to slow down.

“Okay… I’ll take that as a sign.”

Faizal packed his bag and locked the Bilik Sahsiah before leaving the building.

The rain outside was merciless.

Only after stepping out did he realise he had forgotten his umbrella.

Still, he continued walking anyway, purposely letting the rain soak him.

“Not every breaking point looks dramatic. Sometimes it just looks like another working day,” he muttered to himself.

The streetlamp illuminated his tired face.

“Achoo!”

He sniffed once before unlocking his car.

“Better request for an MC tomorrow.”

A small pause.

“Luckily, I already submitted the upper forms’ PBD marks into Isaac’s Drive.”

He stopped for a moment before entering the car and smiled lightly.

“Nazha can handle the presentation to Syarah later.”

Another quiet pause.

“She’s competent, after all.”

The next morning, SM Putra was immersed in mist.

As Nazha arrived at school, she was visibly careful in her movements, still managing the lingering pain in her knee from the night before.

Inside the office, she recorded her attendance.

Megat, standing near the coffee machine, immediately noticed her uneven posture.

His gaze lingered briefly on her left knee.

“So, I’ve got a double down today.”

Nazha frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Faizal’s down with fever,” Megat said, stirring his coffee, “and you’re here with that knee of yours.”

His gaze briefly flicked toward her leg.

“You’ve got sharp eyes, sir,” Nazha replied.

“I used to be a coach,” he said simply.

Syarah walked in and greeted them.

“Nazha, don’t forget our date,” she said teasingly.

“…I remember, ma’am,” Nazha replied, forcing a small smile.

Megat let out a chuckle.

2 Ikhlas, 0700 hours.

“Mid-April is approaching.”

She paused. All eyes were on her.

“Your mid-term exam is also approaching.”

Nazha deliberately let the silence hang for a moment, playing into the class’s competitive energy.

“Aim for the stage this time,” Reina said, clenching her fist.

Randell remained quiet, already confident in his usual performance.

“Ah, well… grinding the gears again,” Asyera muttered. “What even is an A anyway?”

Despite their remarks, Nazha maintained her calm composure.

“Well, we’re going to revise for the next four weeks.”

Inside, however, her thoughts lingered elsewhere.

It wasn’t just about 2 Ikhlas.

She wanted all of them to improve—every class she had taught.

Especially after seeing their UASA results.

Faizal was lying on his bed when his phone lit up.

He lazily picked it up.

Nazha.

“Why? Missing my advice already?” he said, his voice slightly hoarse but teasing.

Nazha laughed softly.

“Not that. I wanted to ask about the Pendulum data from last night.”

Faizal blinked once, then exhaled through his nose.

“So it’s work now.”

Nazha smiled sheepishly.

“Just a little.”

They continued talking.

Knock, knock.

“Come in,” Syarah said.

Nazha stepped inside with a wide grin.

That alone was a good sign.

“Ah, our Pendulum builder,” Syarah said.

Nazha opened her laptop while Syarah worked from her tablet beside her.

The Pendulum interface was clean and minimalist—designed to be easy for any teacher to navigate without friction.

Syarah tapped lightly with her pen, moving through the dashboard tabs one by one.

The curriculum board appeared.

Names and roles were neatly structured across the system.

Megat as advisor.

Syarah as chairman.

Followed by the heads of department and subject panels beneath them.

Nazha switched to the SPM section and opened the set of performance graphs.

Syarah studied the screen, then frowned slightly.

“Add the district GPA trend by year,” she said. “And break it down by department—TVET, Language, STEM, and Social Science.”

Nazha nodded and quickly jotted down the amendments.

The dashboard shifted to the next layer of data: UASA, PPT, PASA, and PBD results—organised through linked sheets, graphs, and score summaries.

Syarah leaned closer.

“Now,” she said, tapping her pen lightly, “teach me how you insert graphs into the pages.”

Nazha guided Syarah through the process smoothly, showing her how to convert the XML data into Google Sheets and organise the graphs into structured boxes on the page.

Syarah watched closely.

“How are you this fluent?” she asked.

Nazha smiled lightly.

She didn’t mention everything—only what was necessary.

“Data entry was my comfort zone. I’ve handled bigger sets before.”

A brief pause.

“I also called him today,” she added. “He helped me with the same issue last night.”

Syarah raised her eyebrows slightly.

Nazha continued, scrolling to the cleaned-up graphs.

“The charts were unreadable in XML,” she said. “So he showed me how to convert them properly into Google Sheets first.”

Nazha hit “Enter” to submit the latest update.

“Look at our graphs—they’re organised now,” she said softly.

Syarah studied the screen.

“Amazing,” she praised.

Nazha lowered her gaze slightly.

“Actually… the real assessment isn’t the dashboard, right?”

Syarah looked at her, waiting.

“It’s their performance,” Nazha continued. “These data are just the output of our work as teachers.”

Syarah nodded slowly.

“You still need to analyse their past results in more depth,” she said. “Carefully and consistently.”

“At its core, Pendulum is not a tool for data collection,” Syarah said calmly. “It is a framework that reflects how teaching intensity, when sustained, shapes learning outcomes over time. It makes visible the relationship between instructional effort and student growth.”

Nazha nodded as a sign of her understanding.

Nazha returned to Bilik Sahsiah and made a few adjustments on her screen.

A knock came at the door.

Megat stepped in.

“You seem very free, sir,” Nazha said lightly.

She quickly angled her laptop away, half-covering the screen.

“But I’m not ready to spoil the Pendulum for you yet,” she added with a small grin.

“Relax. Since Faizal is in offline mode, it’s my duty as the principal to keep an eye on you.”

Megat reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of chewing gum, and handed it to Nazha.

“Thanks, sir,” she said softly.

A small pause settled between them.

“You did an amazing job,” he added.

The words came out steady—but it took him a moment longer than usual to say her name.

Nazha and Megat stared at each other for a moment.

“Are you doing well as a teacher?” he asked quietly.

He wasn’t just asking about workload. He was aware of the dual layers she carried.

Nazha paused.

“If you find something you truly like,” she said slowly, “it starts to feel like a walk in the park.”

Her gaze met his.

“Or maybe… it helps when there’s someone who believes in you.”

She pressed Enter, sending a notification to Syarah about the Pendulum launch this Thursday in the meeting room.

“Thank you for looking out for me, sir,” Nazha said softly.

A brief silence followed.

It was the kind of familiarity that lingered quietly between them—unspoken, but felt.

The launch day had arrived.

Nazha set up the meeting room an hour before recess.

As for her class, she trusted them—and the trust was mutual.

Faizal entered first, a cooling pad resting on his forehead.

Syarah followed, along with several other teachers.

Lastly, Megat stepped into the room, observing quietly as he took his seat.

Nazha began her presentation.

“Pendulum —the curriculum dashboard.”

She explained the rationale behind the name.

Then she navigated through the system tabs:
committee structure, GPA trends, performance graphs, and curriculum activities.

Just as the room settled into formal observation mode, Nazha shifted tone.

A Kahoot! quiz appeared on screen.

The atmosphere changed instantly.

Faizal smirked and leaned slightly toward Syarah.

“She did it again,” he murmured.

Syarah let out a small breath, amused.

“No wonder she was grinning like that the other day.”

The quiz ended.

Isaac placed first.

Faizal came in second.

And surprisingly, the SPM secretary, Hamizah, secured third place.

A soft ripple of amusement moved through the room.

Syarah, acting as MC, passed the microphone to Megat.

Megat stepped forward, taking the microphone from Syarah.

For a moment, he didn’t speak.

His eyes moved across the room—Faizal still with his cooling pad, Syarah standing at the side, the teachers who had just been unexpectedly turned into participants, and Nazha at the front holding the quiet weight of everything she had built.

He exhaled slowly.

“Honestly,” Megat began, his voice calm but carrying more warmth than usual, “I didn’t expect today to turn into this.”

A few soft chuckles came from the room.

He allowed it, then continued.

“We often talk about data. About dashboards. About systems. About performance indicators.”

He paused, letting the words settle.

“But what I saw just now… wasn’t data.”

His gaze shifted briefly toward Nazha.

“It was an engagement. It was ownership. It was learning that doesn’t stay on paper.”

Another pause.

Megat adjusted his stance, softer now.

“Pendulum is not just a reporting tool. It reflects something deeper—how teaching connects to learning, and how learning connects back to us as educators.”

He nodded slightly.

“And today reminded me… that sometimes the best systems are not the ones that measure us, but the ones that bring us back to why we started teaching in the first place.”

A faint smile appeared at the corner of his lips.

“Even if it takes a Kahoot quiz to remind us of that.”

A few quiet laughs spread through the room.

Megat looked at Nazha once more.

“You did well.”

Not loud. Not exaggerated.

Just certain.

“And all of you,” he added, glancing at the room, “thank you for being part of something that started as a system—but became a shared experience.”

He lowered the microphone slightly.

“Let’s keep it that way.”

The crowd dispersed, and everyone returned to the staff room.

Nazha and Faizal walked back to Bilik Sahsiah together.

“Glad you called me that day,” Faizal said lightly.

Nazha laughed.

“You’re my supervisor after all. That’s your role.”

Faizal let out a short chuckle. The cooling pad on his forehead somehow made the moment even funnier, and Nazha laughed along.

“But you had a decent guardian,” Faizal added.

Nazha tilted her head. “Who?”

“Don’t be silly,” he said. “Megat. I could see his eyes were twinkling.”

Nazha pressed her lips together, thinking for a moment.

“I guess I lifted some of his burden,” she said quietly.

Faizal smirked.

“Touche.”

Meanwhile, at the admin office—

“Sir, you seemed quite pleased with the innovation,” Syarah said.

“Every contribution in this school should be celebrated,” came the reply.

Syarah lifted an eyebrow.

“Or maybe because of someone you care about?”

A pause.

“Huh?”

She smiled faintly.

“I’m kidding, sir. We just want to build stronger momentum for the school, after all.”

Outside, the school returned to its usual rhythm.

But something had shifted quietly inside it.

Just like a pendulum, it swings.