Summer's Rose

Chapter 10: Who Do You Think You Are?

Miss Christine and Miss Loh barely exchanged a few words before a heated argument erupted. The two were at each other’s throats, their words flying back and forth like arrows in a battlefield. The sharpness of their tones filled the office with an uncomfortable tension.

The other teachers in the office, sensing the escalating situation, hurried over to mediate. A few nervously glanced around, hoping to diffuse the situation before it spiraled further.

“Alright, alright, no need to argue. Let’s talk this out,” one teacher interjected, their hands raised in a placating gesture.

“Yeah, take it easy. There’s no point in yelling,” another chimed in, their voice laced with unease.

“You’re both head class teachers; don’t let this ruin the harmony between you,” added a third, their tone attempting to sound reassuring but faltering under the weight of the situation.

“Exactly. Harmony is important. Everyone, calm down,” echoed a younger teacher, wringing their hands nervously.

Miss Christine, however, was having none of it. Her eyes flashed as she snapped back, “Harmony? Please. With the way your 17th class performs, do you really think I want to teach them?”

The room fell silent. The teachers, mid-sentence with their comforting words, froze. The tension thickened, heavy like a storm cloud waiting to burst. Nobody knew how to respond.

Miss Loh’s face darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine! I’ll apply to the school to have you replaced as our English teacher.”

Miss Christine’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. “Good! I can’t stand your class for another day. If even one of your students manages to c***k the top ten, I’ll apologize to the entire class myself. But let’s face it—your class doesn’t stand a chance.”

A suffocating silence engulfed the room. The teachers exchanged uncertain glances, their previous confidence to mediate now shaken.

Word about the argument spread like wildfire. Whispers filled the hallways, mingling with the usual hum of student chatter. By the time the news reached Class 17, the once-lively classroom atmosphere had turned somber.

Yong Ming clicked his tongue in disbelief, leaning back in his chair. “Miss Christine’s words are harsh, but honestly, she’s not wrong. Our class sucks. We’ve never had anyone break into the top hundred, let alone the top ten.”

Hao Ming, sitting across from him, sighed heavily, propping his chin on his hand. “The way she spoke to Miss Loh was out of line, but what can we do? It’s not like we can change anything.”

Yong Ming’s gaze shifted across the room, landing on Zhou Nan, who was lazily playing Candy Crush on his phone. “What do you think, man?”

Zhou Nan didn’t even look up, his voice indifferent. “Don’t know.”

Nearby, Wen paused mid-sentence as she worked on her math problems. Her pencil hovered over the paper for a brief moment before she resumed writing, her strokes deliberate and firm. Despite the dreary mood, a quiet determination seemed to radiate from her as she poured herself into the equations.

The classroom settled into an uneasy quiet. Everyone liked Miss Loh—she was patient and kind—but their poor academic performance weighed heavily on their minds. Though they wanted to stand up for her, they felt powerless to do so.

Lunch Break

“Zhou Nan! Zhou Nan! There’s a new restaurant behind the school. Wanna check it out?” Hao Ming called out enthusiastically, his backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder.

Zhou Nan glanced up briefly, giving a noncommittal hum of agreement before returning to his game.

Yong Ming’s eyes lit up. “Let’s go! I heard the food’s amazing!” His excitement was palpable as he practically dragged Zhou Nan from his seat.

The newly opened eatery specialized in stir-fried dishes and was bustling with activity. The rich aroma of sizzling garlic and soy sauce wafted through the air, mingling with the sound of clinking utensils and lively chatter. Despite the crowd, the trio managed to snag a table in the corner, away from the main hustle.

“Zhou Nan, what do you feel like eating?” Yong Ming asked, scanning the menu with eager eyes.

“Anything’s fine,” Zhou Nan replied absently, scrolling through his phone.

“Alright. Boss, we’ll take sweet-and-sour pork ribs, stir-fried carrots with fungus and eggs, scrambled eggs with tomatoes, a three-flavor tofu soup, and five bowls of rice,” Yong Ming rattled off, his enthusiasm evident.

As he contemplated ordering more, Hao Ming rolled his eyes and intervened. “Don’t overdo it. Are you trying to feed an army?”

“Hey, Zhou Nan, are you sure there’s nothing else you want?” Yong Ming double-checked, glancing at him expectantly.

“Nope, that’s plenty,” Zhou Nan replied, tossing his phone onto the table with a soft thud.

Moments later, Zhou Nan’s phone lit up with an incoming call. Hao Ming noticed and pointed it out. “Uh, Zhou Nan, your phone’s lighting up. Looks like someone’s calling.”

Zhou Nan frowned, glancing at the unfamiliar number before rejecting the call without hesitation.

A few seconds later, the phone lit up again. Zhou Nan’s expression darkened as he declined it once more.

“Wow, they’re persistent. Maybe it’s someone you know? You sure you don’t want to take it?” Hao Ming suggested, his curiosity piqued.

Zhou Nan stared at the flashing number for a moment, then stood abruptly. “You guys eat first. I’ll step outside to take this.”

Stepping into the crisp afternoon air, Zhou Nan finally answered the call. His voice was clipped and cold. “Hello?”

“Ah Nan,” a hesitant woman’s voice replied.

Zhou Nan’s brows furrowed. He checked the number again, confirming it wasn’t saved in his contacts. His tone turned even colder.

“Who is this? What do you want?”

“It’s your mother. Ah Nan, can we meet? Just for a meal. I haven’t seen you in so many years. I want to know what you look like now. I’ve missed you so much.”

For a moment, Zhou Nan said nothing, his grip tightening on the phone. Then, he let out a derisive chuckle. “No need. Don’t bother me again.”

The line went quiet, the woman seemingly at a loss for words. Before she could respond, Zhou Nan ended the call, his jaw clenched tightly.

Sliding his phone back into his pocket, Zhou Nan returned to the table. His expression was unreadable, but the storm brewing in his eyes was impossible to miss. “I’ve paid. You guys eat. I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Nan, wait—” Hao Ming started, but Zhou Nan was already walking away, his figure disappearing into the crowd.

Hao Ming and Yong Ming exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of what had happened. Judging by Zhou Nan’s demeanor, the call hadn’t been a pleasant one.

They didn’t dare follow him, knowing Zhou Nan preferred to be alone when he was upset. Even after knowing him for years, they realized how little they truly knew about him. All they knew about Zhou Nan’s family was that he had a father who was rarely around.

Somewhere else, Zhou Nan dialed a number. His hands trembled slightly, though his voice remained steady when the call connected.

“Did you give her my number?” he asked.

Zhou Heng’s voice on the other end was calm. “Your mother misses you.”

Zhou Nan’s grip on the phone tightened. “Misses me? Don’t forget, she was the one who abandoned us. I’m not some object she can toss away and pick up whenever she feels like it. I’m a person.”

There was a pause before Zhou Heng replied, his voice softer now. “It was my fault back then. I couldn’t keep her. Don’t blame your mother.”

A bitter laugh escaped Zhou Nan’s lips. “If you want to see her, go ahead. Just leave me out of it.”

“She really does miss you,” Zhou Heng insisted, his tone almost pleading.

“Oh, now she does? What a joke. Tell her I don’t miss her. And don’t let her contact me again.” Zhou Nan ended the call abruptly, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

Zhou Heng remained seated, his fingers lightly tapping the table as he sipped his coffee. His expression was unreadable, but there was a lingering sadness in his eyes. Some things never changed—he would always come running back to her at the slightest beckoning.

Zhou Nan, meanwhile, clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms until they left crescent-shaped imprints on his skin. He didn’t even notice the pain. His mind churned with memories he had long buried. Some scars, he thought bitterly, never fully heal.