After Teacher Lin's class ended, the next two periods dragged on endlessly—slow, heavy, and brutally dull. As the clock finally crept closer to break, the whole classroom began to unravel like soggy noodles.
Everyone fought sleep in their own quiet, desperate way.
One boy stealthily pulled out a tiny spray bottle hidden in his sleeve. He misted his face with water, then wiped it off with an exaggerated motion, pretending to adjust his glasses while really just trying to jolt himself awake.
"Almost… almost there," he muttered under his breath.
Another student kept raising his water bottle every couple of minutes, drinking with the grim focus of someone lost in a desert. He wasn't thirsty at all—he was simply battling the overwhelming urge to collapse onto his desk.
"Just one more sip… stay alive…" he whispered to himself between gulps.
In the third row, a girl sat ramrod straight, shoulders squared, hands neatly folded—model student posture. But her eyelids were losing the fight. They drooped lower and lower, blinking so slowly it looked like her internal battery was draining to zero.
"Don't… close… yet…" she mouthed silently, willing her eyes to stay open.
Around her, heads nodded forward then jerked back up. Pens rolled off tables. Someone's textbook slid to the floor with a soft thud. The room was a battlefield of fading willpower, every student counting the seconds until the bell.
Finally, the long, torturous wait was almost over. Break was coming—and with it, sweet, temporary freedom from the slow death of boredom.
The classroom had become a silent warzone—students pitted against an invisible enemy called sleep, and sleep was clearly winning. Heads nodded forward then snapped back. Pens slipped from limp fingers. The air felt thick with boredom and the faint smell of chalk dust and desperation.
At the very back row, two boys waged their own private battle against unconsciousness. One of them—eyes half-shut, face tilted dramatically toward the ceiling—whispered a frantic prayer.
"God… please… please make this class end. I swear I won't ask you for anything ever again… please, Lord…"
His voice was barely audible, trembling with exhaustion and fake piety, as if the ceiling tiles might actually open and deliver salvation in the form of a ringing bell.
His friend beside him—locally infamous under some ridiculous nickname the boys had invented, something like "Broken-Shoe" or "Toklu"—leaned in closer, shoulder almost touching, trying not to laugh and wake the teacher.
"Bro, chill. You already promised that last period. And the one before. God's probably got you on mute by now."
"Then why isn't it working?!" the first boy hissed back, still staring upward like divine intervention was just one more sincere plea away.
"Because you're bargaining with the wrong guy. Bargain with the clock instead." Toklu (or whatever his nickname was) nodded toward the wall clock, whose hands seemed glued in place. "Five more minutes. Survive five minutes and we're free."
"Five minutes feels like five years right now."
"Then close your eyes and pretend you're meditating. Teacher loves that spiritual vibe."
The first boy groaned softly, dropping his head onto folded arms for a second before jerking upright again.
"I hate you. I hate this subject. I hate everything."
"Love you too, bro. Now shut up before we both get detention instead of break."
They fell silent, still fighting the heavy pull of their eyelids, counting down the final, agonizing seconds until the bell would finally set them free.
The classroom was a graveyard of fading attention. Students slumped, fought drooping eyelids, and prayed silently for the bell. At the back, Boy 1 still had his face tilted heavenward, whispering desperate bargains with the divine.
His friend—Boy 2, the one with the sharp tongue and ridiculous nickname—leaned in closer, barely containing a smirk.
"Do you think the Lord is your dad's close friend? That He'll listen to you specially?"
Boy 1 shot him a glare, half-annoyed, half-hopeful, refusing to break eye contact with the ceiling.
Then—
DING–DING–DING!
The short break bell cut through the heavy air like salvation itself.
Boy 1's eyes flew wide open. A holy, triumphant glow seemed to light up his exhausted face. He spun toward Boy 2, wearing the smuggest, most victorious smile imaginable.
"See? Told you. Me and God—besties."
Boy 2 rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful, but a reluctant grin tugged at his mouth.
"Whatever. At least we're finally free from this torture."
Another friend—Boy 3—leaned forward from the row behind, grinning like he'd just witnessed the best comedy of the day.
"So bro… will you really not ask for anything from God ever again?"
Boy 1 clicked his tongue, crossing his arms with exaggerated dignity.
"Obviously not. I keep my promises. Unlike some people who mock divine intervention."
Boy 2 snorted. "Yeah, sure. Next period you'll be begging again."
"Never," Boy 1 declared, standing up as chairs scraped and students surged toward the door. "My prayer game is unmatched now."
The three of them joined the exodus, laughing under their breath, the weight of boredom finally lifted—for ten glorious minutes. Boy 1 walked tallest, convinced he'd just secured a personal hotline to heaven.
Outside the classroom, the hallway buzzed with freedom. Break had arrived, and for once, Boy 1 felt like the chosen one.
The bell had rung, but freedom felt distant as students gathered their things in a slow, chaotic rush. Boy 1 stood triumphantly among his friends, still basking in his "divine intervention" victory.
"Shut up, man. I just said that. Obviously I didn't mean it—"
He didn't even finish the sentence.
The teacher, who had been quietly packing her bag at the front, suddenly looked up, her gaze locking straight onto him.
"____, can you deliver these books to the staff room for me?"
The words landed like a perfectly timed punchline.
The entire group of friends exploded into silent, violent laughter. Shoulders shook. Hands flew to mouths. One boy slapped another's back so hard it echoed softly. They were dying, barely holding it together while the teacher waited expectantly.
Boy 2, barely able to speak through his stifled giggles, leaned toward Boy 1.
"Bro… God heard you lying. He punished you immediately."
Boy 3, wiping tears from his eyes, chimed in.
"God is faster than our teacher, damn."
Boy 1's face flushed crimson. He pointed an accusing finger at both of them, voice low but furious.
"Idiots! Nothing happened—! This is just coincidence!"
He snatched the heavy pile of books from the teacher's desk with exaggerated drama, nearly dropping half of them in his haste. The stack wobbled dangerously in his arms as he turned toward the door.
Behind him, his friends were still collapsing against desks and each other, muffled snorts and wheezes escaping despite their best efforts. One mimed praying again, hands clasped mockingly toward the ceiling. Another pretended to faint from laughter.
Boy 1 shot them one last death glare over his shoulder before stomping out, books clutched like a punishment he refused to admit he deserved.
"Coincidence," he muttered under his breath as he disappeared down the corridor.
The friends finally let the laughter spill out the moment he was gone—loud, unstoppable, echoing through the emptying classroom.
Break had begun, but for Boy 1, divine justice had clearly taken priority.
The bell's echo still hung in the air as the classroom erupted into break-time chaos. Students stretched aching limbs, yawned wide enough to crack jaws, dashed for the door, begged friends for snacks, or simply collapsed against desks—half alive, half zombie, but finally free from the slow torture of those last two periods.
Laughter bounced off walls. Someone shouted about stolen chips. Chairs scraped. Footsteps thundered toward the corridor.
Yet in the middle of the noise, two boys stayed strangely still.
Wei packed his pencil case with slow, trembling fingers. Each pen clicked into place like he was stalling time itself. His shoulders were tight, breath shallow, as though moving too fast might shatter something fragile inside him.
Jian sat motionless, bag already slung over one shoulder, but he didn't stand. His gaze kept drifting—slowly, reluctantly—toward the back row. Whoever sat there seemed to hold every answer Jian was terrified to hear. His fingers gripped the desk edge until knuckles paled.
The room emptied around them. Friends called out, voices fading down the hall.
Still, neither moved.
Wei finally zipped his case shut. Jian's eyes flicked back one last time, then dropped to the floor.
The hallway noise grew distant. Break stretched ahead—loud, bright, ordinary.
But for these two, the real tension hadn't ended with the bell.
It had only just begun.