Aisha's mind buzzed with unease as she whispered to the system, "Do the boys actually hate her too?"
[Those who left have already been influenced to dislike Ruqayyah as well.]
Aisha's stomach twisted. On one hand, she wanted to resent Ruqayyah for putting her in this impossible situation. On the other, a pang of sympathy gnawed at her—Ruqayyah had no idea how different her world was, or how challenging it could be to step into someone else's life.
Finally, the long-awaited breakfast was ready. The aroma of sizzling oil and fragrant spices drifted through the air, making stomachs rumble in unison. Shinta and Fara had assisted in preparing the meal but had cleverly hidden until the very end. Aisha muttered under her breath, "Cowards…"
Throughout the cooking, she had followed the system's guidance meticulously, chopping, stirring, and seasoning as instructed. The motions felt foreign, yet strangely satisfying. She could almost feel the old Aisha—the one who had never cooked a meal in her life—laughing quietly at the absurdity of it all.
When she carried a steaming container of fried rice into the dining hall, every eye turned, and every stomach grumbled. The food alone could have won admiration, yet the moment was interrupted as Zidan and his group swaggered in.
"Smells good… that's it," one sneered, arms crossed, eyes narrowing in challenge.
Aisha stopped, setting the container down with deliberate care. Her gaze sharpened, voice firm yet steady, cutting through the tension. "Try it first. If, after tasting it, you still wish to insult it, feel free to leave. But if you're not even brave enough to try…" She paused, letting her words sink in. "…then you are the cowards."
Silence fell like a curtain over the room. Even the clatter of cutlery seemed muted. Then, slowly, Raiz stepped forward. He scooped a spoonful of rice, chewed deliberately, and froze mid-bite.
"This…" he finally said, eyes lifting to meet hers, "it's incredible."
A ripple of small cheers spread among the other students. Ghazali and Zaki hurried to try the rice, faces lighting up with genuine delight. Zaki, too busy eating to speak, nodded in satisfaction, cheeks stuffed.
Aisha allowed herself a quiet breath of relief. This was more than food; it was a quiet reclamation of dignity, a small victory asserting her place in this foreign world.
Raiz tilted his head slightly, a half-smile playing at his lips. "Ruqayyah really is skilled at cooking," he admitted softly.
Aisha's heart skipped a beat. She allowed herself a tiny, almost imperceptible smile. "Of course," she replied lightly, voice calm, composed. Inwardly, she laughed quietly at her secret: the instant fried rice seasoning she had purchased just the day before, tucked away in Ruqayyah's bag. Who would have thought this simple packet would become her secret weapon? She remembered with amusement the irony: she, who had once struggled to tell salt from sugar, had now mastered a kitchen task well enough to earn the respect of her peers.
Breakfast concluded with laughter, chatter, and a sense of quiet camaraderie. For Aisha, the simple act of cooking had become a subtle assertion of control over her new life—a reminder that even small victories mattered.
Soon after, it was time for class. The classroom buzzed with activity, pens scratching across paper, whispered conversation blending into a gentle hum of energy. Aisha sat at her desk, flanked by Ayra, Raiz, and a few others, the group assignment laid before them. Bela had informed her that a presentation was scheduled today with Ayra. At first, the idea had startled Aisha—she barely knew her—but Ayra had approached her earlier in class with a friendly, confident smile.
"Ruqayyah! Our paper is ready for the presentation," Ayra said, voice light but purposeful.
"Oh… very well," Aisha murmured, her hand trembling slightly as it hovered over the delicate, modern sheets of paper. She whispered softly to the system, "System! I'm in trouble! I don't understand a single word of this sociology material! What am I supposed to do?"
"Calm yourself, Your Grace. You need only to stand with poise and read the material aloud. Your voice is your greatest asset. You are the lead presenter, not the analyst," the system replied, its tone measured and serene.
Aisha felt a flicker of relief. Just reading? That was far simpler than debating with the scholars at my father's court, she thought wryly.
Yet across the table, Raiz—seated barely a few meters away—could not seem to tear his gaze from her. Aisha sensed it—a relentless, probing look that left her uneasily aware of every movement. She tried to appear absorbed in her notes, letting the system guide her pen across the page, yet his stare felt impossibly insistent, as if she were under the scrutiny of a palace guard who had fallen hopelessly in love.
Ayra leaned closer, her voice a whisper, half amused and half incredulous. "Hey… Raiz hasn't stopped staring at you since earlier. That's… kind of weird."
Aisha blinked in surprise. Closing her notebook, she met Raiz's eyes directly. Her expression remained composed, but her voice, soft yet sharp, carried unmistakable authority.
"Raiz… wouldn't it be better to focus on the assignment rather than me? Let's do this properly—together."
The classroom seemed to pause. Pens hung midair. A few students glanced up, curiosity flaring in their eyes.
Raiz's face flushed crimson. He scratched the back of his neck, stumbling over his words. "S-sorry. I… I was just… daydreaming. I didn't realize I was staring at you."
Daydreaming? Aisha tilted her head ever so slightly. What kind of daydream even involves me? Still, she chose to let it slide. There were bigger battles today than teasing a boy lost in thought.
Some classmates—Ghazali, Zaki, and a few others—quietly suppressed laughter, enjoying the tension crackling in the room.
Aisha inclined her head once, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Good. Let your seriousness show—both in words and in actions."
The reminder seemed to anchor the moment, refocusing Raiz and the others. Pens scratched busily once more. Paper rustled. Ideas were exchanged in hushed tones.
Through it all, Aisha felt a quiet satisfaction. She was no longer simply surviving this strange new life—she was asserting herself, slowly but surely, shaping her place within it.
Even as the system buzzed softly in the recesses of her mind, guiding and advising, she realized that small victories—like mastering a kitchen, earning respect, and commanding attention in class—could accumulate into something greater. She could navigate this world, one careful, deliberate step at a time.
And perhaps, she thought with a small, private smile, that even a mischievous glance from Raiz could be endured… and maybe, just maybe, understood.