It was the umpteenth time when Wheein shifted her chair uncomfortably yet again. It was worse than the last time. Now, she had taken out her notebooks, unused papers and her coloured pens were sprawled out all over her desk. Her face held a frustrated expression, a pained look flickered across her facial features at times. Unconscious of what she was doing, she continued tapping her feet impatiently against the floor.

Of all my years knowing Wheein, I had never seen her in this state before. Where she would stare off blankly at the whiteboard, not bothering to hide the fact that her soul wasn't there. Where she would scribble stuffs on every corner of the paper and crumple them because they seemed useless to her. Where she literally emptied her bag, her pencil case and messed her table up so she could be distracted while organising her stuffs again and again; a never-ending cycle.

Our classmates were giving me looks, asking me what was wrong with Wheein; I could only kindly asked them to give Wheein time to herself and leave us alone so that Wheein could at least have her own personal space.

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