The scratching of pens wouldn’t stop. The overhead fan was whirring at full speed. Yet, she could sense the beads of sweat forming over her brow. A couple more minutes and she would wipe it off again. The students had just another 30 minutes and then she could go and rest in the staff room.
This was the third consecutive day her cook hadn’t turned up. Her ailing mother in law was demanding even when on bed. Then there was her husband who couldn’t see her burdens even if she threw them in his face. Well, he was dead anyways. He met with an accident while he was on a trip with his mistress. The world thought he died alone and mourned him for all that he wasn’t. She didn’t care to correct their assumptions to save her daughter from the society’s cruel impending jibes.
She could see two students passing papers at the back of the room. She didn’t care! They were old enough to know what was right and what wasn’t. If they thought these marks could secure their future, she wanted to roll on the floor laughing at their silliness. The real world would make them repent for their underhand methods. Or at least life would. She let them enjoy the short lived moments of adrenalin rushed success. And noted their roll numbers for further reference.
If they were good, she was better.