When I was in Grade 4, there was a girl in my class who always finished her work first.
Her name was Mina.
While the rest of us were still writing, erasing, and whispering answers to each other, she would already be sitting straight, hands folded neatly on her desk, eyes calm. She never looked bored. She never looked proud. She just waited.
Teachers liked her.
Not the loud kind of liking, but the quiet kind—the kind where they trusted her without checking twice. When she raised her hand, they listened. When she spoke, the room followed.
I was nothing like her.
I talked too much. I laughed too loudly. I forgot my notebooks and my pencils. I got scolded often, sometimes even when I didn't know what I did wrong.
I don't remember when I started noticing her.
Maybe it was the way she never complained.
Or the way she never looked down on anyone.
Or maybe it was simply because she was kind without trying.
I just knew that when she was around, the classroom felt different.
Quieter. Softer.