Raila was walking home after a long, exhausting day at school, her steps slow and heavy, as though the pavement itself resisted her. The city moved around her as usual, unaware of the storm raging quietly inside her mind.
Her principal's words echoed relentlessly, each syllable cutting deeper than the last.
"What kind of teacher are you if you can't even understand something this basic? Don't you have the slightest sense? I don't think you're even qualified to be a teacher."
The sentence replayed again and again in her head, refusing to fade.
She had given her whole heart to those children—those small, fragile souls whose trust came so easily and broke so painfully. She could never bring herself to hurt them. Never to reject them. Not even when one of them shyly offered her a gift.
She knew the rules. She knew the laws.And she knew—without a doubt—that she had not broken any of them.
The gift wasn't expensive. It wasn't inappropriate. It was just a simple fountain pen.
Still, somehow, it had become a crime.
Absentmindedly, she reached into her bag and took the pen out, staring at it under the dim streetlights. A sad, almost amused smile curved her lips. It wasn't the first gift she had received. There had been others before—different shapes, different occasions.
But that wasn't her fault.
She was simply that kind of teacher.
People often called her rare. A teacher whose bond with students was stronger than her connection with colleagues. Children gravitated toward her naturally. Whenever they had a moment, they would sit beside her, talk to her, confide in her.
She never pushed them away.
She never silenced them.
She answered their foolish questions patiently, even when she knew they were teasing her on purpose. She believed—truly believed—that if talking made them happy, then talking was never a waste of time.
She didn't see them as just kids.
She saw them as human beings.Human beings with emotions. With delicate hearts.
She understood that students wanted to be seen, wanted to feel valued in a teacher's eyes. That was why she never made them feel unwanted. Never made them feel like a burden.
And that—ironically—was exactly what the rest of the staff resented.
Students greeted only her in the hallways.They spoke to only her.They trusted only her with their problems.
And yet, despite all of that, she was told she wasn't a good teacher.
She was told she was ignorant.
Those words shattered something inside her so completely that she didn't even know how to fix it. Somewhere between the accusations and the silence that followed, she had already decided—
She would quit.
After all, who was she even trying so hard for?There was no one waiting for her. No one counting on her.
She wanted to lose herself in noise—in a place so loud that her thoughts would finally fall silent. Somewhere music would drown everything else out.
But instead, against her own expectations, her feet carried her toward her favorite café.
She wore a long coat, her hair loose around her shoulders. She adjusted her glasses as she walked. The air was heavy with moisture, the sky crowded with clouds that threatened rain at any moment.
She liked weather like this. Quiet. Muted. Honest.
After a short walk, she stood in front of the café. As soon as she pushed the door open, the bell rang softly, announcing her arrival.
"Hello, Mr. Paul."
The manager looked up from his work and smiled warmly."Hello, Raila. Nice to see you. I'm fine—like always."
Mr. Paul was older, gentle in a way that reminded her of a parent. To him, Raila was almost like a daughter. In her small circle of real connections, he was one of the very few.
She went to her usual window seat and sat down, watching people pass by outside. Neon lights reflected off the wet pavement, blurring into streaks of color. The city looked alive—vibrant, restless.
She rested her chin on her hand, drifting deep into her thoughts, until a voice pulled her back.
"Excuse me!"
Once.Twice.Three times.
Only then did she realize the voice was meant for her.
She turned abruptly, eyes wide, as though she had been dragged out of a whirlpool. A young woman stood there—maybe twenty-three or twenty-four. There was something about her that suggested music, like a singer who belonged to dim stages and late nights.
"Ah… y-yes?" Raila managed.
The woman sat down across from her without hesitation.
It felt strange. Invasive, even. Raila had never seen someone enter another person's space so confidently. Still, she said nothing. She simply turned her gaze back toward the window.
"My name is Selena."
Raila glanced at her briefly, nodded, and forced a polite smile. Her posture remained unchanged. Her silence was unmistakable—she wasn't in the mood for conversation.
"I see you here often," Selena continued.
Another nod. Nothing more.
"Your mood doesn't seem very good today."
This time, Raila looked at her properly—really looked at her—before offering a faint smile and returning to her previous position.
Selena stood up.
"Would you like to come with me?""I know a place. A good one."
Raila was startled. Before she could respond—before she could even process what was happening—Selena reached out and pulled her to her feet.
Raila stiffened, surprise quickly turning into irritation.
"Excuse me. I could have stood up myself."
Selena shrugged lightly, unfazed."It's fine. You're already standing. Come on."
She spoke as if they had known each other for years.
And then—without asking, without waiting—Selena took Raila's hand and led her out of the café.
The neon lights spilled over them as they stepped outside. Music drifted faintly through the air. The city pulsed with life.
Raila's heart began to race, a feeling she couldn't quite name tightening in her chest.
Maybe this night wasn't just an escape.
Maybe—it was the beginning of something she didn't yet understand.