POV: {Li Yichen}
The corridor was too bright.
Li Yichen had always found comfort in silence. In a soft lamplight. In handwritten notes. But ever since her name began appearing in scandalous whispers and committee documents, the lights here felt like interrogation lamps. Too hot. Too white. Too cruel.
The world had changed overnight. No warning.
She held the letter in trembling hands. Her name, stamped in harsh black ink:
"Suspension pending investigation."
No smiles from students.
No nods from admin.
Even the janitor avoided her eyes.
Each step echoed like judgment.
At the hallway's end stood the prayer room. Small. Tucked away. Forgotten. Yichen slipped inside like smoke, jilbab flowing behind her like a second skin.
Inside: silence.
Dust motes floated in a single sunbeam. She closed the door. Her knees touched the mat. And at last, she cried, not for the faculty, the lectures, or the betrayal.
She cried only before ALLAH.
Her voice was a whisper. But Heaven hears whispers louder than thunder.
"Ya ALLAH," she breathed, fingers on her tasbih. "You knew. When they plotted, You watched. When they lied, You recorded. When I nearly broke… You held me."
She bowed her forehead to the ground.
"If this shame is a test, let me rise with dignity.
If this ache is purification, let me endure.
If this silence is where You speak… let me listen."
Her voice wavered, but her spine straightened.
When she rose, her lashes were wet, but her gaze steady. She was still accused. Still suspended. Still surrounded by knives disguised as pens.
But she had one thing no one could take.
Tawakkul.
Absolute trust in ALLAH.
She stepped out...not as a pariah, but as someone who knew the wind would bend in her favor.
Because ALLAH commanded the wind.
---
POV: {Jian Mazhir}
The faculty conference room smelled of tension masked with cologne. Polished words. Sharpened smiles. Jian Mazhir sat at the far end of the table, arms crossed, letting the others speak first.
Always speak last. Always speak clean.
"…as per protocol," Dean Tang was saying, "her suspension stands pending the ethics board's review. Given the optics, I advise no media comments for now."
Optics. Not truth. Never truth.
Jian's gaze narrowed, just enough to register dissent.
He hadn't slept. Headlines. Posts. Accusations. All aimed at a woman who was brilliance wrapped in calm…and now being dragged through the mud.
She was fire. They were dousing her in gasoline.
"It was Professor Jing," Vice Chancellor Luo's voice cut in. "that filed the report that triggered the inquiry, correct?"
Eyes turned. Jian met Luo's gaze. "Correct. The report addressed procedural misconduct—grade appeals, unauthorized communication. It didn't name Li Yichen."
Technically true. Conveniently so.
"But you know it would lead to her being questioned?"
"I know it would raise scrutiny. That scrutiny should've exposed corruption—not scapegoated a student."
A beat of silence.
"Are you saying she's innocent?"
"I'm saying," Jian said slowly, "we're punishing a student over whispers while the real culprits hide behind tenure."
Calculated. A truth-bomb dropped quietly.
Stillness.
He added, "If we suspend someone based on rumors, we invite lawsuits. The media will call this institutional misogyny. And frankly, we won't survive that."
Now they listened.
Not because they believed in Yichen. But because protecting her had just become safer.
Ten minutes later, the room emptied.
Jian stayed seated. Checked his phone. No calls. No texts. Nothing from Yichen.
She didn't know he'd ghostwritten letters on her behalf. That he'd leaked false leads. That he'd threatened legal action if her name made headlines.
She didn't know… and maybe never would.
He opened a file. A short video—taken through tinted glass.
Yichen, leaving the prayer room. Eyes clear. Steps calm. Jilbab fluttering like defiance.
Jian finally exhaled.
She hadn't broken. She'd bent to no one.
If silence was weakness, they'd forgotten that silence often comes before the thunder.
He closed the file and stood.
War needed strategy.
But protection?
That demanded sacrifice.
---
POV: {Lin Yichen}
The Storm in the Lecture Hall
The projector hummed softly. Tension hung heavier.
Lin Yichen sat upright, her notes pristine, though her hand trembled slightly. Professor Jian spoke with measured authority, discussing ethics and market manipulation.
But Yichen felt a gaze from the left aisle.
She didn't need to look.
Sun Peiyan.
Daughter of privilege. Beautiful. Bitter. Still clinging to rumors like perfume on clothes.
"And so," Professor Jian said, "the ripple effect of insider influence can devastate markets—and lives."
His gaze passed briefly over the room. Paused on Yichen. A flicker of reassurance.
Then, Peiyan raised her hand.
"Professor," she said sweetly, eyes sharp, "would it be ethical for a student to rise academically while… involved with a professor?"
A few chuckles. Glances toward Yichen.
Yichen sat still.
Peiyan added, "Even rumors matter. Appearances shape perception."
Yichen turned to her, calm, and raised her hand.
"With respect," she said, "if a student's record shows diligence and merit, should baseless whispers erase that? Or are we grading based on hallway gossip now?"
Some nodded. Some didn't.
Peiyan smirked. "Transparency matters. Some of us work twice as hard for half the attention."
Before Yichen could reply, a voice cut through.
"I disagree."
Heads turned.
It was Yunqi. Quiet, polite Yunqi. Never spoke unless asked.
"I've seen Lin Yichen's work. She tutors three of us, for free. Finishes early. Helps others. Doesn't hand out answers…she teaches."
He looked at Peiyan. "If you worked twice as hard, maybe you'd know that."
Gasps. Silence.
Yichen blinked.
Yunqi didn't stop. "Dragging someone's name for being noticed isn't ethics. It's envy disguised as etiquette."
Peiyan went still.
Professor Jian finally spoke. "Well said."
He switched off the projector.
"Professionalism means respect. Not rivalry masked as concern. We grade on merit. Nothing else."
His gaze swept over them like a verdict.
"Class dismissed."
Yichen remained in her seat, stunned. Yunqi passed, gave a small respectful nod. No drama. Just acknowledgment.
From the podium, Jian Mazhir watched, quiet… but proud.
---
POV: {Li Yichen}
After class. The campus quieted.
Shadows stretched across the stone railing by the eastern garden.
Yichen stood, hands clasped tight. She hadn't gone back inside.
Not after Yunqi.
Footsteps approached, firm, unhurried. She didn't turn. She already knew.
"Miss Li," he said gently. "I hope I didn't overstep."
She turned. The setting sun softened his face. Yunqi stood a safe distance away. Respectful. Still. Present.
"You didn't have to speak," Yichen said quietly. "It surprised me."
"You were being cornered. Someone had to."
"Thank you. You know what this could mean…"
"I do. Some things are worth it."
She studied him. "You barely know me."
"I know what truth looks like under pressure. I saw it in your eyes. And in theirs."
A silence settled.
"You shouldn't involve yourself. Professor Jing remembers defiance."
"I remember injustice," he replied.
Her eyes met his. For a moment…fleeting, there was something more than sympathy.
Conviction.
"Are you always this reckless?" she murmured.
"Only when it matters."
She exhaled. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly.
"You'll make enemies."
"So will they."
A breeze passed. The call to prayer echoed softly nearby.
Yichen nodded. "I should go."
"Will you be alright?"
She paused, then gave the faintest smile. "I always am."
Yunqi nodded once. No questions. No expectations. Just a quiet walk away.
But somehow, he'd left her with something.
Hope.
---
Next Chapter Sneak Peek:
Just as the last whisper faded, Yichen's phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
"You think a student's voice can save you? You've already been erased. I won't share what is mine."
She stared at the screen, breath caught...
Then the display dimmed to black.