"Contentment and happiness has a gentle way of stealing time, turning long days into fleeting moments without us even noticing."
Alina had heard that phrase before, read it in books, heard it from older teachers, but she had never truly understood it until now. The days had blurred together like watercolors bleeding into one another—first days of term, parent meetings, plantation day, sports day, the attack, the healing, the quiet moments in between.
And now, somehow, impossibly, it was over.
Not forever. They weren't leaving the kindergarten entirely. They would still be here, in the same building. But they wouldn't be her students anymore. They were moving up to the upper class. New teacher. New classroom. New routine.
She would still see them. At lunch. At assemblies. In passing. But it wouldn't be the same. She wouldn't be their main teacher anymore.
Today was their last day in Class D.
Today was farewell.
