Mina walked into the classroom, carrying her bag on her shoulder. She immediately noticed the empty seat where Althea usually sat. Maybe she was just held up, Mina thought. A small unease tugged at her, and she hoped her friend was alright.
She opened her notebook and began writing, but her eyes kept returning to the vacant seat. Mina remembered Althea's quiet habits—the way she would tilt her head slightly when thinking, the soft smile she gave when someone said something funny, and the way she sometimes tapped her pen lightly while focusing. Those small memories made Mina smile. She missed her friend, but the concern remained calm, gentle, and patient.
During the first break, Mina walked to the window, watching the students in the courtyard. Some moved in groups, laughing and talking, while others hurried to their next classes. Mina wondered where Althea might be. Perhaps she was caught up somewhere, or maybe she had a reason to be late. A quiet concern lingered in Mina's thoughts, steady and unobtrusive, like a soft reminder of her friend's absence.
Back in the classroom, the familiar sounds filled the air—papers rustling, chairs scraping, quiet conversations between classmates. Mina kept glancing at the empty seat. Each time the door opened and it wasn't Althea, she returned her attention to her notes. Yet her thoughts inevitably drifted back to her friend. She imagined Althea walking through the halls, quietly greeting classmates or hurrying to a class she was late for. The thought brought a soft warmth to Mina's chest. She cared for her friend and hoped she was safe.
The message she had sent weeks ago "How are you? Why haven't you been showing up?" remained unread on her phone. Mina didn't dwell on it. She simply noticed it, letting the quiet concern remain in her mind. It was natural for her to think about Althea and hope she would return.
As the lesson began, Mina focused on her notes, listening to the teacher explain new concepts. Her pen moved automatically, but her thoughts often wandered. She remembered times with Althea: small jokes shared during class, whispered comments about assignments, the comfort of sitting together in silence. Those moments felt warm and familiar, even if her friend wasn't here now. Mina's concern stayed gentle, more like a quiet awareness than an urgent worry.
At lunch, Mina walked to their usual table. She set her tray down and left the spot beside her empty. She remembered the small routines they had shared—passing notes, exchanging quiet laughs, the calm feeling of simply being together. The memories brought a smile, and she hoped Althea was okay. Her thoughts were steady and caring, never overwhelming.
In the afternoon, Mina glanced toward the classroom door several times. Footsteps echoed, voices floated in, and each time it wasn't Althea, she returned to her work. Her mind remained connected to her friend, quietly wishing she was present. The pattern of glances and soft hope became part of her daily routine, a subtle companion to the ordinary rhythm of school life.
The following day, Mina arrived earlier than usual. She unpacked her bag and glanced at the empty seat once more. Her mind lingered on Althea, wondering what could have kept her away. A soft concern nudged at her thoughts, but she let it pass as she focused on her lessons. She reminded herself that there could be many simple reasons for her friend's absence.