Our Journey

4. Cup of Tea

Hidayah entered her classroom early that morning, the soft click of the door against the frame signaling the start of her day. It was a quiet, peaceful time before the bustle of school life took over. She set down her bag and prepared for another day of teaching, her mind already focused on her students.

One student, in particular, weighed heavily on her heart — Omar.

Omar was a 10-year-old boy with autism. His non-verbal communication made him an enigma to most people, but Hidayah had developed a unique way of interacting with him. Their bond was subtle, built on patience and the understanding that sometimes words weren't necessary to communicate. It had taken time, but Hidayah had come to truly understand his cues — the way he'd smile slightly when he was happy, the way he fidgeted when he needed comfort, the way he'd seek her attention with his eyes when he wanted reassurance.

It was a Wednesday morning, and Hidayah had planned a sensory activity for Omar. She laid out a set of textured fabrics on the floor—some smooth, others rough. She smiled as she watched him approach cautiously, his small fingers twitching with curiosity.

"Omar," Hidayah said softly, kneeling down to his level. "Would you like to touch the silk? Or maybe the wool today?"

Omar looked at her, his eyes wide, but he didn't respond verbally. He reached for the silk first, his fingers brushing the smooth material, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Good choice," Hidayah said with a gentle laugh, feeling a warmth in her chest. She had learned to appreciate the smallest gestures with Omar — a smile, a glance, a slight tilt of his head. They spoke volumes.

For the next few minutes, Hidayah and Omar sat together, testing the textures. She would guide his hand to each fabric, letting him feel it for himself before gently prompting him to move to the next one. Slowly, a routine had been established between them — Omar would give his small signs of approval, and Hidayah would respond with praise, reinforcing his progress, even if it was something as simple as choosing a fabric to touch.

As she sat there, watching him focus intently on the textures, Hidayah felt a sense of pride. This bond they were building was important to her. She had always wanted to work with children, but working with a student like Omar had deepened her empathy in ways she hadn't expected.

When Omar finally pulled away from the fabrics, Hidayah smiled and gave him some space. She had learned that sometimes, less was more, and pushing him too hard would only make him retreat. As he moved toward a nearby toy, she followed at a distance, giving him room to navigate the classroom on his own.

Her heart swelled with quiet pride at the little victories. She may not always be able to communicate with him in the way most people communicated, but this was enough. And she knew it was enough for him too.

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The day was winding down, the classroom buzzing with the sounds of students packing their things, chattering excitedly about the upcoming holidays. Hidayah was sitting at her desk when Aaron walked by, offering a quick smile. His presence was always reassuring in a way she couldn't quite explain, and today was no different.

"Hey, you look like you're about to get buried under a mountain of paperwork," Aaron joked, leaning against the doorframe of her classroom.

Hidayah chuckled, leaning back in her chair with a sigh. "I think I might need a vacation already," she said, tapping the top of the papers with a pencil. "It's been a long week."

Aaron nodded, his eyes softening. "I get that. You've been working so hard with the kids. I've noticed, you know. You're really good with them."

Her cheeks flushed slightly, though she tried to play it cool. "Well, I try my best," she said, her voice quiet. "It's not always easy, but they're worth it."