The first round wasn't supposed to be serious.
Just practice.
Just a warm-up.
But no one told that to Hana Qistina.
She stood at the podium like she owned the air around her—poised, confident, sharp as a blade honed on years of winning. She wasn't just the best debater in school. She knew it.
Azril sat across from her at the opposite podium, trying to ignore the quiet stir in the classroom.
Everyone expected a mismatch.
Hana leaned in slightly, smirking. "Try to keep up."
Azril didn't reply.
He didn't need to.
Because this wasn't about pride.
It was about voice.
The motion was simple:
"Social media does more harm than good."
Hana took the opposing side.
Her words flew with precision. Facts, figures, flair. Every argument wrapped in polish and polish wrapped in confidence.
When Azril stood, the room felt smaller.
Quieter.
Not because he was louder.
But because he was real.
"Social media can hurt," he said plainly. "But so can isolation. So can silence. So can being invisible."
He didn't throw statistics.
He told stories.
How it was Iman who first messaged him online when everyone else avoided him.
How sometimes a single message—"Are you okay?"—could pull someone back from the edge.
How being seen, even for a moment, could save someone.
He saw the panel shift in their seats.
Saw a few students lower their phones, suddenly unsure.
Hana's rebuttal was strong.
But her voice wasn't shaking when she finished.
Azril's was.
And that made the difference.
The vote was close.
But Azril won.
By a single point.
After the match, Hana found him by the vending machine.
"You talk like you're about to cry," she said flatly.
Azril wiped his face. "Because I nearly did."
She studied him, frowning.
Then, to his surprise, she smiled.
"Good. That's when it means something."
She walked off without another word.
Azril stood there for a moment, heart still racing, mind buzzing—not from victory, but from something deeper.
He didn't just belong here.
He had something to say.
And people were finally listening.
End of Chapter 12