Chapter 1

Yoko

"Ugh, I can't believe our final year of high school starts tomorrow..." Ink groaned through the small screen of my phone, her voice full of reluctant anticipation.

I chuckled softly at the familiar sight. "Yeah, who would be ready for that? You tell me," Marissa replied, rolling her eyes dramatically.

Leaning my head on my palm at the table, I couldn't help but laugh along with them. We all shared the same sentiment—no one was ready for school, let alone the final year. By the end of it, we'd be choosing paths that could shape the rest of our lives.

Yet, at this moment, none of us had it figured out. All we knew was that we loved being together, and that was enough.

Ink, Marissa, and Big had been my closest friends since the beginning. We clicked almost instantly. I was particularly close to Ink; we'd practically grown up together, attending the same schools since childhood.

"Oh, I heard there's a new English Lit teacher this year," Big chimed in, cutting through the easy banter.

Big was the only guy in our group—a sweetheart through and through. Despite being the heartthrob of every girl at school with his striking good looks, he brought nothing but disappointment to them. He was, after all, unapologetically gay.

Ah, such a pity, ladies...

"Where'd you hear that?" Marissa's eyes sparkled with curiosity.

"From your new timetable. I just hope she isn't as strict as the last teacher," Big replied with a sigh.

A yawn escaped me, signalling that I was ready to turn in for the night. Tomorrow loomed, and we all knew an early start awaited us.

"Look, Yoko's already yawning. Let's call it a night," Ink said, catching on quickly.

"Yeah, I'm exhausted. See you guys tomorrow, alright?" I waved a sleepy goodbye, my voice fading with fatigue.

We exchanged goodnights and ended the FaceTime call. As the screen went dark, I made my way to the bathroom to carry out my nightly routine—brushing my teeth, washing my face, and applying a bit of night moisturiser.

Just as I was about to slip into bed, I heard scratching at my door. A smile spread across my face.

"Hey, Ham," I whispered, opening the door to find my golden retriever waiting patiently. He padded in quickly, seeking the cool comfort of my room, no doubt because of his thick fur.

Closing the door, I followed him to his sleeping area near the balcony window. Crouching down, I gave him gentle pats, massaging the back of his ears and under his chin. His tail wagged softly in contentment.

"Goodnight, Ham," I murmured, planting a kiss on his head. After one final pat, I climbed into bed, switched off the bedside lamp, and let sleep wash over me.

Tomorrow is awaited.

Rrrrr

The alarm blared softly, pulling me from the comforting embrace of sleep. I blinked a few times, reaching for my phone to silence it. The room was still dim, bathed in the gentle morning light filtering through the curtains. I lingered under the warm weight of my blanket, reluctant to leave its comfort.

Sensing I was awake, Ham padded over, his soft snout nudging against my hand. His eyes sparkled, full of affection and anticipation.

"Good morning, Ham," I whispered, a smile tugging at my lips as I ruffled his golden fur. His tail thumped rhythmically against the wooden floor, a familiar, comforting sound.

"Alright, buddy, time to get up," I murmured, stretching and pulling back the weighted blanket. As I stood, Ham wagged his tail even more enthusiastically, his joy contagious. I headed to the bathroom, the promise of a warm shower luring me out of my morning haze.

Afterwards, I chose a simple maroon sweater and a pair of loose-fit, washed denim jeans. The cool morning air hinted at a perfect day—the kind that didn't get too warm even by afternoon. My favourite.

By the time I glanced at the clock, it was already 7:30. I quickly applied some light makeup—just a hint of blush and a touch of gloss—then slipped on my frameless rectangular glasses and headed out of my room, Ham trotting beside me.

In the kitchen, he sat patiently as I prepared his breakfast. His big, expectant eyes followed my every move.

"Here you go, buddy." I poured his favourite dry food into his bowl, smiling as he dove in, the crunching sounds filling the quiet kitchen.

I sipped my coffee, taking a bite from the pre-made sandwich at the counter. My phone buzzed with a message, and I couldn't help but smile as I saw who it was from.

Dad

Have a great day at school, Yoko. No stress on your first day. You've got this!

Warmth filled my chest. My dad was always there, even from afar. A businessman with frequent overseas trips, he wasn't home often. But his love and support never wavered. I cherished the solitude when he was away, but moments like this reminded me of how deeply connected we still were.

I quickly typed a reply.

Yoko

No sweat, Dad. I got this. Stay safe wherever you are and make the most of it!

Dad

Attagirl. Always thinking of you, my daughter.

I smiled, a surge of gratitude washing over me.

Yoko

Thinking of you too Dad, x.

After finishing my coffee, I rinsed my cup and plate, dried them, and grabbed my bag from the sofa. Ham was waiting at the door, his tail wagging, eyes filled with that boundless, loyal love only a dog can give.

"Alright, Ham. I'm heading to school. Be good, okay? I'll be back soon." I crouched down, giving him one last scratch behind the ears. He wagged his tail even more, almost as if he understood, wishing me luck for the day ahead.

With one last wave, I stepped out, closing the door gently behind me. Sliding into the driver's seat, I placed my bag on the passenger side and started the car.

As I drove, the soft hum of my favourite song filled the air. The streets were quiet, a few early risers strolling along the sidewalks. The calm of the morning mirrored the peace within me.

Before I knew it, I was pulling into the school parking lot, ready to face whatever the day had in store.

Exiting my car, I walked towards the school entrance, the hum of morning chatter filling the air. Inside, the hallways buzzed with familiar energy—students reuniting, lockers clanging, and hurried footsteps. Near his locker, I spotted Big, already deep in thought as he organised his books.

I strolled over and tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"Good morning, Big," I greeted with a smile. "How'd you sleep last night?"

"Hey, you," he replied, returning the smile. "Slept okay... but honestly, I wish mornings didn't exist."

I chuckled at his predictable reluctance. "Well, you're here. That counts for something."

"Didn't have much of a choice, my dear friend." He closed his locker, balancing his history and mathematics books in one hand.

Just then, Ink and Marissa approached, their cheerful energy contagious.

"Good morning, you two!" Ink beamed, her enthusiasm filling the space around her.

"Morning," I replied, matching her warmth.

Marissa's eyes lit up as she looked at me. "Yoko, you look so nice today!"

I felt a light blush creeping in. "This? It's nothing... just something simple."

Ink nudged me playfully. "Yoko, we've got English Literature first. Let's sit together?"

"Sure," I agreed as she hooked her arm around mine. I turned to Big and Marissa, who were still gathering their things. "See you at lunch!"

With a wave, we parted ways, heading off to our respective classes.

Ink and I walked into the classroom, already buzzing with familiar faces—students from different sections finding their seats, catching up after the break. We headed to a table near the window and settled in. The soft morning light streamed in, warming the edge of our desks.

I unpacked my notebook, pens, and highlighters, readying myself for the lesson. Ink leaned closer, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Hey, you remember what Big said about the new teacher, right?"

I nodded, keeping my voice low. "Yeah, what about it?"

"Aren't you even a little curious? Wonder what she's like... or looks like?" Ink's grin widened.

I smirked, shaking my head. "Not really. It's just another teacher. I just hope she's not strict or... unbearable."

Ink rolled her eyes playfully, but before she could reply, a distinct sound cut through the chatter—a rhythmic clicking echoing from the hallway. Footsteps. Confident, steady.

The room quieted slightly, heads turning subtly towards the door. My eyes followed the sound, curiosity stirring against my better judgement.

Then, she appeared—a tall figure, framed perfectly in the doorway.

She must be the new teacher.

The classroom's chatter faded into a hushed stillness as the unfamiliar figure took her place at the front, standing tall behind the teacher's desk. All eyes were drawn to her, curiosity mingled with awe.

She was captivatingly tall—easily around 175 centimetres, even without the sleek black heels that clicked softly against the floor. Her elegance was undeniable: fitted black trousers paired with a crisp black shirt, the top button casually undone, hinting at a subtle confidence. Long, dark brown hair was swept back flawlessly, not a strand out of place, cascading like a smooth river of silk.

A distinct, luxurious scent filled the air—rich, woody, and undeniably exclusive. It wasn't overpowering but left a trace, lingering like a whispered secret.

Her presence radiated authority: calm, unyielding, and undeniably superior. Every movement was deliberate, every glance seemed to command attention without effort.

For a moment, I found myself lost in the aura she exuded, a spell woven by her quiet strength.

The trance shattered as she began to speak, her voice smooth yet firm, pulling me abruptly back to reality.

"Morning. I'm Ms Peraya, your new English Literature teacher for this year." Her voice was cool and measured, devoid of warmth or enthusiasm, as though carved from stone.

Are all teachers like this...?

"Now, some ground rules." Her gaze swept across the classroom, lingering momentarily on each student. Our eyes met for a fleeting second, but she moved on, her expression unreadable.

"I expect you to pay attention. This is your final year—the most crucial year of your high school journey. I demand nothing but your best effort in all assignments."

A chorus of murmured acknowledgements filled the room, the weight of her expectations settling over us like a dense fog.

"Alright. To begin with..." She turned to the whiteboard, the faint squeak of marker against surface cutting through the silence. Her back to us, she wrote in elegant, deliberate strokes.

Topic – Myself.

Facing us again, she folded her arms, her eyes scanning the room. "This is a simple topic. Write something about yourself, in any style you prefer, and submit it by the end of the lesson."

The classroom soon filled with the soft rustle of paper and the scratch of pens. Heads bowed in concentration, some students stared into the distance, lost in thought. I glanced towards the front, where Ms Peraya sat at her desk, engrossed in something on her screen.

I stared at the blank sheet before me, the stark white expanse feeling oddly daunting. Writing was my passion—English Literature, my sanctuary—but writing about myself? That felt like an impossible task.

A soft sigh escaped my lips. I glanced at Ink beside me, her pen moving steadily. My thoughts drifted to Ham... then Dad. Suddenly, the words clicked into place. Grabbing my pen, I began to write, the sentences flowing effortlessly.

When I finished, I glanced at the clock: 20 minutes left. Setting my pen down, I read through my work, a tentative satisfaction settling in.

Good enough, I hope.

Around me, heads remained bowed, pens dancing across paper. Setting my assignment aside, I pulled out my notebook and began sketching the lines of a poem, losing myself in its rhythm. The outside world faded away, the soft hum of the classroom a distant murmur.

I didn't hear the quiet click of heels approaching, didn't sense the presence moving closer—until a shadow loomed over my desk.

Something in the air shifted. A pair of eyes were watching, their weight pressing down like a silent question. Furrowing my brows, I turned slowly, meeting the inscrutable gaze of Ms Peraya.

"Ms Peraya." My voice barely rose above a whisper, each syllable feeling heavy on my tongue. Her gaze pinned me in place, and the sunlight streaming through the window illuminated her eyes—a light brown that held an unsettling depth. But behind them, there was nothing. No warmth. No emotion.

"Ms Apasra, what are you doing?" Her voice was low and authoritative, each word cutting through the air like a blade. She stood with arms crossed, her expression unyielding.

"I—I..." The words caught in my throat. Her stare, so intense, made my heart race. "I've finished the assignment you set, so I started working on something else."

Her expression remained a mask, unreadable. "You're done?" One eyebrow arched slightly, a barely perceptible shift.

I nodded quickly, feeling a lump form in my throat.

"Have you checked it thoroughly?" Her tone was razor-sharp, eyes narrowing slightly. "I don't tolerate careless narratives."

"Yes," I managed, voice steadying. "I've read through it several times." I reached for my paper and held it out, a silent plea for approval.

She took it without a word, her fingers brushing mine—a fleeting contact that sent a shiver down my spine. My breath caught for a moment, but she was already reading, her eyes scanning the first few lines. She didn't react, didn't offer even the slightest nod of acknowledgment.

Then, without another word, she turned and walked back to the front of the class, papers in hand.

The bell rang, a sharp, jarring sound that broke the silence. Students hurried to the front to submit their papers, then filed out, their chatter fading into the hallway. Ms Peraya remained focused on her laptop, her expression unchanged.

I followed Ink towards the door, my steps hesitant. Just as I was about to leave, her voice cut through the air.

"Ms Apasra."

The room was empty now, save for the two of us. I turned slowly, the weight of her words settling like a stone in my chest.

"Yes, Ms Peraya?" My voice was softer than I intended, edged with uncertainty.

She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, eyes locking onto mine. "Next time, even if you've finished the assignment, refrain from doing other work. Unless you're absolutely certain it's flawless, I expect you to refine it further."

The words hit me like a cold wind, sharp and unyielding. She wasn't someone who tolerated mediocrity.

I swallowed hard, forcing a small nod. "Understood. I'll keep that in mind. Sorry." I tried to sound confident, though my heart hammered in my chest. I needed her on my side; there was no room for mistakes.

She didn't respond, just turned back to her laptop, dismissing me without another glance.

I pressed my lips into a tight line, feeling the tension still coiled in my shoulders. As I stepped into the hallway, Ink was there, waiting. She hooked her arm through mine, pulling me close.

"Let's go," she whispered, as though sensing the storm still brewing inside me.

"What happened?" Ink asked, tilting her head to sneak a glance back at the classroom as we walked down the corridor.

I shook my head, letting out a small sigh. "Nothing serious. Ms Peraya just told me not to do other work during her class. She wasn't exactly... friendly about it, though." I rolled my eyes slightly. "I really don't want to end up on her bad side."

Ink winced, sympathy etched on her face. "Oh no... I can only imagine how tough her class is going to be." She shook her head, a small smile softening her words. "Good luck, Yoko."

"Thanks," I chuckled, feeling some of the tension melt away.

We reached the point where our paths split. "My next class is Biology," she said, letting go of my arm. "See you at lunch?"

"Yeah, see you then, Ink."

With a quick wave, she disappeared into her classroom. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the next lesson—Mathematics. At least numbers couldn't glare at me like Ms Peraya.

Time flew by quickly, and the final bell echoed through the halls, signalling the end of the school day. I packed my books, zipped up my bag, and strolled through the quieting hallways to my car.

Relief washed over me as I slid into the driver's seat. The engine hummed to life, and soon I was on my way home, leaving the weight of the day behind.

As I pulled into the driveway, a familiar sight greeted me—Ham, my golden retriever, wagging his tail furiously, his bright eyes locked onto me. His face, always a radiant beam of sunshine, instantly lifted my spirits.

"Hey, Ham! I'm home!" I called, stepping out of the car. Kneeling down, I opened my arms, and he bounded toward me, paws landing softly on my shoulders. His warmth melted away the stress of the day, even the lingering intensity of Ms Peraya's stern gaze.

"Come on, let's get you some food." His paws padded alongside me as we walked inside. I filled his bowl with fresh water and kibble, smiling as he happily devoured it, his tail swishing with joy.

Upstairs, I swapped my school clothes for cosy sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, feeling the tension ease with every layer shed. In the kitchen, I whipped up a quick pesto pasta, the aroma filling the air as Ham watched me with eager eyes.

We headed outside, into the sun-drenched yard. Ham rolled in the grass, his golden fur catching the light. I picked up his favourite squeaky ball, giving it a playful squeeze. His ears perked up immediately.

"You want this, don't you?" I teased, smirking. He stood, ears alert, eyes locked on the ball as if to say, "Yes, I do!"

"Alright then, fetch!" I threw the ball across the yard. He took off like a shot, retrieving it with the speed of lightning, and dropped it back into my outstretched hand.

Again and again, we played, his boundless energy infectious. Finally, I patted his head. "You make me so happy, Ham. Do you even know that?"

He barked softly, eyes sparkling with understanding. I smiled, soaking in the simple joy of the moment.

Back inside, I settled onto the couch, scrolling through Disney+ until a new Korean drama, The Judge from Hell, caught my eye. Something about it drew me in, and soon I was lost in its gripping plot twists, each episode more intense than the last.

By the time night fell and the cold moon hung high in the vast sky, I turned off the TV and grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen. Ham followed me upstairs, his presence a comforting shadow.

In my room, I set out a simple dress for tomorrow's class before slipping into my bedtime routine: brushing my teeth, washing my face, and finally climbing into my soft, welcoming bed.

Leaning against the headboard, wrapped in my blanket, I reached for my Kindle on the bedside table. My fingers found their way to my favourite poetry book by Elizabeth Bishop.

Flipping through the familiar pages, I paused, a smile tugging at my lips. There it was—my favourite poem: One Art.

"The art of losing isn't hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn't hard to master."

I enunciate each word aloud, clearly and softly.

"Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

places, and names, and where it was you meant

to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or

next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,

some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster."

A small smile creeped in as I reached the last part,

"—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident

the art of losing's not too hard to master

though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster."

"Oh, how beautifully she expresses herself," I murmured, as if someone was right there beside me. I admired how each word she chose in the poem seemed so deliberate, so carefully crafted. The way she compared the loss of someone dear, perhaps the love of her life, to the everyday losses—small, seemingly inconsequential things—was brilliant, and yet, somehow, so profoundly moving.

I set my Kindle aside, turned off the lights, and settled deeper into my mattress. With a quiet sense of contentment from tonight's reading, I slowly drifted off to sleep, ready for a brand new day that awaits for me tomorrow.