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The students had been waiting for a new literature teacher, after a string of short-term replacements. One left on maternity leave, another quit after only a month. When Anna arrived — young, composed, and neat — the students exchanged skeptical glances.
“Another one… She won’t last long.”
The first lesson began, and it quickly turned into a test for the teacher.
“Alright, open your notebooks…” she began.
“We didn’t bring any!” someone shouted from the back. Laughter followed.
“How about you introduce yourself before trying to teach?” another mocked.
“Alright. Anna…” she said, her voice steady.
“Smells like perfume from the last century, and those glasses—just like grandma’s!” The laughter grew louder.
A student played a donkey braying on their phone, and the class erupted in giggles. While Anna was explaining something at the board, one student threw a paper airplane at her back.
The teacher turned around.
“Gonna cry and run off like the last one?” someone sneered, loud enough for her to hear.
Another student exaggerated a yawn and dropped their textbook with a loud thud. Others followed suit—books hit the floor, chairs creaked, and one student openly scrolled through TikTok on their tablet.
Then, without warning, Anna walked over to the edge of her desk and sat down. She spoke softly, almost casually, and for the first time, the entire class fell silent as they listened…
Continued in the first comment 👇👇
“You know, I wasn’t always a teacher. Exactly a year ago, I worked in an oncology ward for teenagers. They were your age. Some of them just wanted to survive long enough to graduate. Every moment mattered to them: books, poems, just having someone to talk to.”
“One boy, 17 years old, diagnosed with sarcoma. We read books out loud because he could no longer speak.”
The class grew quieter.
“He held on to the book, even when his fingers couldn’t work properly anymore. He told me, ‘I wish I’d loved books earlier. Now I’d give anything to just sit in a regular class. Without an IV.’”
The room’s atmosphere shifted.
“A girl from the next room, she dreamt of going to school. Just sitting in a real classroom. You all… you’re living their dream, but you act like life owes you something.”
“I’m not going to pity you, and I won’t beg you. I know the value of these moments. And if you want to find out what that means, keep going the way you are.”
She stood up, adjusted the pile of notebooks on her desk, straightened her glasses, and opened the class register. For the rest of the lesson, not a single sound was heard.
