The second week of exams had arrived like a silent storm. It wasn't loud, but it was heavy. Stress lingered in every hallway. Heads were down, eyes on textbooks, and even the usual social buzz around campus was muted.
Zen wasn't new to this. He'd faced worse storms. But this one felt different—not because of the difficulty of the exams, but because he finally felt anchored. Spiritually grounded. Focused. And more mature than he had in months.
On the second-to-last day, his schedule showed Art and Chemistry. But since Sophomores and Seniors had already completed their Art practicals the week before, Zen was free during that period.
The exam rover's voice echoed across the hall:
"Art students stay in Mrs. Carly's class. Geography to Mrs. Sheila's. Economics to Mr. Ben."
Zen made his way to Mrs. Carly's room and slid into his seat, grateful for a pocket of calm. He pulled out his Bible—not out of obligation, but from a genuine hunger to connect. The scriptures weren't just words to him anymore; they were a mirror, a compass, a source of strength.
He read silently, lips barely moving, mind soaking in wisdom. A moment later, a familiar voice pulled him back.
Shane (grinning): "Yo bro, what you up to?"
Zen (smiling): "Just Bible reading, getting in the zone with God. You?"
Shane: "Colouring One Piece panels. This manga is still running! My dad jokes that it'll end the day humanity does."
Zen laughed, shaking his head.
Zen: "By the way, you ever heard of Sun City in South Africa?"
Shane: "Heard of it? Bro, I've always wanted to go."
And just like that, the conversation took off. Zen painted a vivid picture of the resort with his words—how the sheer size of it required a passenger bus just to get from the parking lot to reception. His voice animated, eyes lit up.
"There are five main slides. The Mamba and Viper go through walls. Viper's open, Mamba's a tunnel. Then there's the Test of Courage—that thing is so steep it feels like falling off a roof."
He paused and turned to Marinette, sitting just behind him.
Zen: "You've been, right?"
Marinette: "Yup. And Zen's not exaggerating. That slide isn't for the faint-hearted."
Zen: "Exactly! I went on it twice—craziest ride of my life. If you even think of moving, you'll get bruised. Then there's one with a trapdoor… drops you straight down."
Shane leaned back, stunned.
Shane: "I'm begging my parents. Holidays or not, I'm going!"
Zen smirked, proud of his pitch. Then, for fun, he called out to Jen and Jasmine.
Zen: "Y'all know about Sun City?"
Jen: "Is that a mall?"
Jasmine: "Never heard of it."
Zen (mock disbelief): "It's Disneyland, but African edition! Water slides, luxury food, shops—you need to experience it."
Then the topic changed—seamlessly, naturally—to full names. Zen moved to sit with Jen and Jasmine.
Zen: "How many names do you guys have? I've got five."
Jen: "Three."
Jasmine: "Seven. But only three made it on the birth certificate. They couldn't fit the rest!"
Laughter filled the room, the kind that made the pressure of exams fade for a moment. But that light mood didn't last.
Suddenly, their English teacher burst into the room, eyes narrowed. No explanation. Just a quick, silent search of every male student's desk and pockets.
Then… he left. No word. No warning.
Zen (thinking): "What was that about?"
Before he could process it, three more teachers entered. Two male. One female. Their presence was heavy.
Teacher 1 (stern): "Put your bags in front. Everyone is getting searched."
Boys (in protest): "But we just got searched!"
Teacher 2 (to girls): "Line up over here."
It wasn't optional. Everyone complied, confusion bubbling into discomfort. Bags were opened. Pockets emptied. Eyes scanned the room like searchlights.
What's happening? Zen thought.
The first teacher pulled out two hidden phones, faces grim.
Teacher 2:
"Some of you are probably wondering why we're doing this. It's simple. Certain students in this grade are suspected of cheating."
A wave of silence swept through the room. People looked at each other, unsure who to trust, unsure what the teachers knew.
Zen's eyes narrowed.
Wait… wasn't there that one guy who kept going to the restroom almost every exam?
The puzzle pieces clicked. Quietly. Firmly.
He said nothing, but the memory locked in his mind.
Epilogue: The Lesson Between the Lines
The week ended, but Zen couldn't shake the feeling.
Not of fear—he wasn't worried. He had nothing to hide. But rather, a sobering awareness. He'd spent so much time growing stronger, wiser, more faithful… and yet, the world kept revealing new layers of chaos.
But unlike before, Zen didn't panic.
He didn't fight.
He observed.
He took notes.
He prayed.
And most importantly, he stayed ready.
For Zen, this wasn't just exam season. It was a season of revelation. Of hidden things coming to light. And though the incident faded in conversation, the lesson stuck:
People wear masks. Some are visible. Others are revealed in pressure.
Zen now understood that discernment wasn't just a skill.
It was a necessity.