My life was neither amazing nor sad—I don’t even know how to describe it. A girl once said she was standing on the rooftop of a school named First Steps. This is my new school, and it was my first day when I saw her.

She was wearing the school uniform: a black short skirt, a white T-shirt, and a black jacket. She stood there while I looked at her, as if it was the first time I had ever really seen a girl. Her skin was smooth and pure white. Her long, black hair was loose, flying gently in the wind. The soft breeze touched her skin, making her flinch slightly.

Her lips were heart-shaped with a pinkish shade. Her nose was perfectly shaped, matching her face. Her sharp jawline suited her flawless appearance—something every girl would dream of. Though her collarbones and neck bones weren’t visible, I could imagine them as just as perfect, the kind everyone would want.

But there was one thing about her that stood out, something unusual yet breathtaking—her eyes. They were large, pure black, and sparkling, but filled with tears that hadn’t fallen.

Suddenly, she spread her arms wide to feel the smooth flow of air. She looked at the sky and closed her eyes with a faint smile, but a single tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. The sight was breathtaking.

Then, someone came running and called out, “Mia! What are you doing here? We’re late for class.”

She replied calmly, “Relax, it’s nothing.”

The girl insisted, “I know, but this isn’t good.”

Mia pouted and said, “Oh, okay, my mother, let’s go.”

The girl rolled her eyes with a smile, “I’m not your mother.”

Mia laughed softly, “I know. Now let’s go.”

They left together. What they didn’t know was that I was also on the rooftop, but on the opposite side. When I heard her name—Mia—I couldn’t stop wondering if it was her real name or just a nickname. That confusion was killing me.

I also headed to class, and to my surprise, I saw Mia again—standing at the classroom door. So, she was my classmate. Just then, I heard someone scolding her and her friends.

“What is this time to come? What were you doing on the rooftop? How many times have I told you all to stop this boyfriend–girlfriend drama in school? And yet, you three were up there!”

Her friends protested, “Ma’am, you forgot—we’re not like that, especially Mia.”

The teacher frowned, “It’s not just about you. I know how you are, but if you’re always on the rooftop, people will assume you’re there to meet your boyfriends. Many cases like that have already happened.”

Mia answered respectfully, “We understand, Ma’am. Next time, we’ll come on time.”

The teacher sighed, “Fine. Next time, be careful.”

The teacher started teaching. The whole class was silent, but only a few were actually listening carefully. Some students looked sleepy but pretended to pay attention, while others were secretly eating. I wondered, What kind of class is this? Nobody complained, and even though the teacher noticed, she didn’t do anything at first. But the very next moment, she scolded and even beat some of them. Strangely, they weren’t ashamed—they just smiled and made fun of her. The teacher, too, ended up smiling.

During all this, Mia and her friends were doing everything at once—listening to the lecture, eating, talking, and even drawing. It was like they had mastered the art of multitasking without letting anyone notice. How did I know? Because when the teacher started scolding and beating the other students, Mia casually asked me if I wanted something to eat while watching the “show.” That was when I noticed everything.

One of her friends, sitting behind her, was continuously talking to the girl next to her. But she wasn’t speaking normally—she was lip-syncing. Her mouth moved as if she wasn’t talking at all, yet the other girl clearly understood. I was shocked. What a talent! Meanwhile, the girl next to her was also eating. She got food from Mia’s desk partner, who was smoothly passing it around to everyone. They all ate and shared like experts, without a care for what was happening in class. They just chilled and watched the “beating show,” while Mia kept drawing and innocently offered me snacks, as if she wasn’t part of it.

But don’t think they were only messing around. Their notebooks were complete, with everything the teacher had just taught already written neatly. Some wrote in a rough way, but still systematic and easy to understand. I was honestly shocked.

I didn’t dare eat in class because I was sure I’d get caught. So, I politely said no. Just then, the teacher suddenly asked me a question. I flinched because I hadn’t been paying attention, but luckily, I already knew the answer from my earlier studies. I answered correctly, and the teacher nodded, “Okay, sit.”

Then she asked Mia a question. Finally, I know her real name—it wasn’t Mira but Mia. I thought she wouldn’t be able to answer since she had been drawing and eating, but to my surprise, she gave a perfect answer. The teacher smiled, “Good, sit.”

I was already shocked, but then the teacher asked Mia’s desk partner a question. The teacher called her Payal, but Mia and another girl quickly corrected her, “Ma’am, it’s Palak.” The teacher smiled, “Oh, okay.” I thought, This girl definitely won’t be able to answer. But again, she did—and she was right.

Ma’am said “Good”—but not to me. I thought I had answered correctly, but maybe it was different from what Ma’am was teaching. I think she was just checking if I was paying attention, and she knew I wasn’t. Still, since my answer was right, she couldn’t punish me. But this was only my first day… what if I had already ruined my image?

Oh no, again I’m not focusing. I told myself to stop overthinking and pay attention. So, I started focusing again. Ma’am was teaching, and the class was silent. Everyone looked focused, even Mia’s group.

Suddenly, Ma’am asked a question related to the course. The class went silent. All the students just stared at her with different expressions—some confused, some looking like they hadn’t heard the question, some pretending they remembered it but actually didn’t. Ma’am sighed, gave the answer herself, and explained it again. Some students understood it and wrote it down, while others had mixed reactions—“Oh, I was almost right,” “I made a small mistake,” or “What? I’ve never heard of this before.”

Finally, the class ended, and Ma’am left. Right away, all the students started talking. I noticed Mia—when the teacher left, everyone stood lazily to greet her, then sat back down. Mia rested her head on the desk for a moment, almost like she was about to sleep. Then she got up, went over to her friends, and started chatting again.

A little later, our next teacher arrived—ten minutes late, by which time the class had already started buzzing with noise

In the second class, the teacher was very chill and funny, the type who acted like she didn’t care much. But sometimes, when she got angry, she would beat the life out of us.

At first, I thought Mia’s group was the “bad” group. But after watching them more closely, I realized they were actually good. The real troublemakers were another group of girls—the so-called “girl gang.” They had no respect at all. Honestly, they were the worst. Even though we had just entered high school, they already had boyfriends, and not just one—they had many exes too. There was also a group of boys who were just like them, acting dirty-minded in public and doing the worst things. Not all of them were bad—some were respectful—but most of them gave off a bad impression.

Then there was another group, which I can only describe as… dumb. I don’t mean to be rude, but they acted like complete children, as if the world was new to them and they didn’t understand anything.

There were, of course, more classmates, but these were the main groups. Most were dirty-minded, but not everyone. Mia’s group, however, was different. No one even realized they were a “group” because they didn’t have the usual complaints or drama that other groups caused. They blended in, almost invisible as a team.

The other groups had leaders, not officially, but someone always took the lead. For example, the “bully girls” had their own leader, and the “stopid boys” group too. But Mia’s group didn’t have any leader at all. Still, I call it “Mia’s group,” just to name it. Others called them by different names—everyone had their own way of referring to them