A note to their dear teacher - a note written from the heart. Just a distance away, she smiled and said, "Look what you've got! Hard work seems to pay off." And her smile trailed off and slowly melted away, slowly, carefully, and secretly.
She was envious of their little gifts for her. Little gifts of appreciation that put a spark on every teacher's face. Her empty hands made her heart grow cold. She shivered. How could she tell a friend how she feels? She was obviously jealous. None of them knew. None of her students even noticed. Her absence-to-be was a learned joy. A celebration for a better one would come.
"Argh, let's have a break."
"You've finished the whole book, what do you want the other teacher to teach?"
Yet in another class... was unusually solemn. Not because of her last day, they just wanted to get over with it. "Ah~, pull off your last stunt quick and leave us (alone)," she could almost hear them even in the silence. No sign of sad departures. Not even thank you. She wasn't quite their 'good' teacher, not even the least of a kind. Then time came; the last class ended.
Settling down on her chair in the staffroom, a dark negro boy came to her, a boy none of her class bore his name.
"Sorry, didn't know that it was your last day. This one's for you."
He secretly passed a piece of folded paper to her and left.
She retreated to the class, putting up little stuffs to cheer up the room. Then, came the boys one by one, making a small circle in the room. All too shy, and finally one of them bore courage and said thank you. Then, another, and another, and another. She wasn't sure if they were genuine. She was. She wanted to let them know. It was inexpressible.
It soon ended with shy good-byes. What disappointing sight. She wanted to cry. But they left. She retreated the folded paper. It read: Hope to see you again?
Hope to see you again. She forced a smile. Forget me not.
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