"Riiiing! Riiiing! Riiiing!"The bell rang loudly through the classroom, echoing off the yellow walls and white ceiling. Chairs scraped across the floor with loud screeches as students scrambled to gather their books. Some muttered under their breath, others sighed in relief. Every face bore the exhaustion of the previous lesson, a mixture of boredom and impatience.
It was an ordinary classroom, with brown wooden windows half open to the tropical air, letting in a soft breeze that ruffled papers. Rows of worn desks were neatly aligned, but scratches and carvings marked years of student frustrations and secrets. The teacher's table sat at the front, cluttered with chalk, markers, and scattered notebooks. The blackboard, though dusty, carried the faint traces of equations and diagrams. The bright yellow walls and white ceiling made the room feel cheerful on the surface, but there was a quiet stiffness, a sense of formality that reminded everyone of the rules they were expected to follow.
But one face stood out among all the others. At the far corner, a dark-skinned boy sat alone. His posture slouched slightly, his hands gripping his notebook tightly. His name was Ahmad. The seat he chose, or perhaps the one that was left for him, told the whole story: he was apart. Isolated. Almost invisible in a crowd where he shouldn't have stuck out. As the bell rang again, signaling the break, the classroom erupted into motion. Students rushed to the door, backpacks bouncing against their backs, laughter and chatter filling the air. Ahmad stood as well, moving quickly, clutching his notebook to his chest. He was headed to the restroom, too timid to ask permission from the teacher. His shoes scuffed against the tiled floor, echoing faintly.
Then it happened. A leg shot out in front of him. "Ouch!" He hit the floor hard, forehead first. Pain exploded immediately, a sharp, burning pulse that made his eyes water. He tried to steady himself, pressing his palm against the bruising impact. The world around him seemed to blur as laughter swelled like a tide.
Students walked by as if he were invisible. No one offered a hand, no one glanced back. Some whispered, some giggled. Others just stared ahead, pretending not to notice. Ahmad swallowed the rising tears, forcing them down, and looked up.
Charles.
He stood there, smirking. Ahmad's stomach twisted. Charles didn't even hesitate. He stepped forward and drove a fist into Ahmad's side. "Ughhh!" Ahmad gasped, the air leaving his lungs in a rush. He crouched, clutching his belly, knees trembling. The laughter around him grew louder echoing in his ears like a chorus mocking his pain. Girls whispered and giggled, pointing discreetly but clearly judging him. His face burned with humiliation.
He had endured this before. Since the first day he arrived at Mont-Fleuri, Charles and his gang had made it clear that he didn't belong. They found new ways to humiliate him every day, each time sharper than the last. At first, Ahmad had stayed quiet, hoping they would grow bored. But now, something inside him snapped.
His eyes lifted, scanning the room. His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The laughter faltered, replaced by a tense silence that seemed to stretch between breaths. "Ahmad! Don't!" A voice cut through the stillness. Sophia, her face pale, pushed through the crowd. She reached for him, but he brushed her hand aside. "Leave me alone, Sophia! I've had enough!" he shouted.
The crowd sensed the tension and began chanting.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!"
Ahmad's anger surged like fire, hot and uncontrollable. He took a step toward Charles, eyes blazing. Then a sharp jab hit his ribs from behind. Pain flared violently, stealing his breath. He cried out, clutching his side, his vision blurring as he gasped for air. His heart raced, pounding in his ears. Still, his fury burned brighter, sharper than the pain.
Charles laughed, smug and self-satisfied, pleased that one of his goons had done his work for him. "Fight you?" Charles scoffed, walking casually closer. "You couldn't even kill a chicken. You're not worth it, black blockhead." Ahmad's blood boiled. He lunged forward, ready to strike, fists raised, teeth gritted.
"What is going on here?"
The voice of authority cut like a whip. Miss Olivia stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp and unyielding. The chant stopped immediately. The students froze, scattered, and whispered behind cupped hands. "Ahmad! Don't think I didn't see you. To my office!" His shoulders slumped. He glanced at Sophia, then lowered his gaze to the floor. "Yes, ma'am," he muttered, voice tight with frustration. Charles smirked. He thought he had won, but Miss Olivia's next words struck him.
"Charles! You too."
The classroom went silent. Students filed out quickly, avoiding eye contact. The tension hung thick in the air. Miss Olivia exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples. She had seen this before and knew she would see it again. Ahmad was quiet, kind, too easy a target. Charles, meanwhile, was untouchable, his father's influence protecting him from real consequences. Justice here was fragile.
She glanced at the empty classroom, sunlight catching the floating dust in the air. Then she turned and walked back toward her office. The soft click of her heels echoed in the silent room. Ahmad followed silently, carrying with him the weight of humiliation, anger, and isolation — a silence that would stay long after she had gone.