Lab 2 — 9:15 AM
The room buzzed with nervous energy.
Students whispered.
Pencils tapped.
Phones vibrated.
The smell of new notebooks and fresh ambition filled the air.
Then — the door opened.
Professor Elvin Stewart walked in.
He was tall, sharp, commanding — but his eyes were kind.
The kind of eyes that had seen thousands of students pass through this room.
The kind of eyes that remembered the ones who mattered.
He stopped at the front of the class.
Looked around.
His gaze paused — just for a moment — on the girl in the front row.
White hijab.
White dupatta.
White mask.
Eyes down.
Register open.
Pen ready.
Focused, he thought.
Even before I’ve started speaking.
He smiled.
“Hello, kiddos.
Good morning, new fresh faces.”
He spread his arms wide, dramatic, welcoming.
“Hmm.
I smell dreams.
Yeah — big dreams.
Well, let’s see who achieves them in the end.”
A few students laughed.
Nervous laughter.
The kind that comes from not knowing what to expect.
“By the way, I am your professor.
Your teacher.
Elvin Stewart.
Yes, head of the department too.
I’ve been teaching here almost thirty years — or more, I guess.
I love fresh faces.”
He paused.
“So before I make you all bore — introductions.
Let’s start.”
The Introductions
A boy stood up — bold, confident, smiling.
“Hi, I’m Shiraz.
From India.
Well, I applied here.
They accepted me.
So I came here.
Actually — I love this place.”
He sat down.
A girl stood up next.
“Hi, I’m Kim Joseph.
I’m local — here in California.
I got A in all my subjects.
I applied here because…
I love computers.
The smell.”
Everyone laughed.
The smell of computers?
C thought.
What does that mean?
She didn’t understand.
But she was too nervous to think about it.
My turn is coming, she thought.
What will I say?
First time in a mixed class.
First time speaking in front of boys.
Ya Allah, help me.
The introductions continued.
Iraq.
China.
London.
Different faces, different accents, different dreams.
A bold girl with short hair stood up.
Her smile was wide, confident, almost arrogant.
“Hi, everyone.
I’m Alina.
I’m from Turkey.
My English is not good — but my father has an IT company.
So I came here.
One day, I will expand his company.”
She sat down, crossing her arms, satisfied.
C looked at her.
So confident, she thought.
So sure of herself.
I am not like her.
A girl with green eyes and fair skin stood up.
She wore an eastern frock — colorful, embroidered, beautiful.
“Hi, I’m Sana Rehman.
From New York.
Why did I choose software engineering?
I don’t know, well — I applied.
I passed the test.
So I came.
Programming?
No idea.”
Everyone laughed.
Professor Elvin smiled.
A tall boy with green eyes stood up — sharp, protective, watching the room.
.””Sameer Rehman here.
Also New York.”
He pointed toward Sana.
“She’s my sister.”
Then toward the boys.
“No flirting.”
The classroom exploded with laughter.
More laughter.
Professor Elvin chuckled, shaking his head.
His eyes moved to the front row.
The girl in white.
Eyes still down.
Register still open.
Pen still ready.
She didn’t laugh, he noticed.
She didn’t even look up.
The jokes don’t matter to her.
Only the studies.
Another boy stood up — same eyes, same face, same family.
But different.
Quieter.
More observant.
He looked at the front row.
At the girl in white.
“Hello, everyone.
I’m Amir Rehman.
Age nineteen.
New York resident.”
He paused.
“Well — I love coding.
I love creativity.
I love robots.
My sister applied here, so I applied too.
That’s it.”
He looked at her again.
But she didn’t look up.
Confused, he thought.
Nervous.
Not confident.
But different.
He sat down.
C’s Introduction
The room quieted.
Professor Elvin looked at C.
“Next, kiddo.
Front row ”
C’s heart stopped.
My turn, she thought.
Oh Allah, my turn.
She stood up slowly — her legs trembling, her hands shaking.
Her voice came out soft — barely audible.
“Assalam o Alaikum…
mam.”
The class laughed.
Mam?
someone whispered.
He’s a man.
C’s face burned beneath her mask.
Professor Elvin raised his hand gently.
“It’s okay, kiddo.
You can call me ‘mam’ if you want.
Take your time.
I want a full introduction.”
C’s heart was pounding.
Her voice trembled.
“Jee…
mam…
no…
I mean…
sir…
yes, sir…”
The class was silent now.
Amir’s heart beat faster.
So polite, he thought.
So calm.
Her voice is…
soft.
Like something precious.
C swallowed.
“My name is…
C Ismail.
I am…
from…
Punjab, Pakistan.
I am eighteen.”
She paused.
Her fingers twisted around her pen.
“My father…
has an ice cream shop.
I have…
one elder brother.
Two sisters.
And my Ami — she cooks the best food in the world.”
A few students smiled.
Softly.
Not mocking.
C continued, her voice growing steadier.
“Why did I choose computer science?
Because…
it was Hamad Bhai’s dream.
And Anita D’s dream.
They couldn’t study further.
So I came here — to fulfill their dream.”
She paused again.
“In December…
I received the Golden Excellence Scholarship.
From my college.
From my district.”
Her voice dropped.
“I love coding.
Hamad Bhai used to say — ‘C, listen to the code.
It will tell you what to do.’ I didn’t understand that then.
But I want to understand now.”
She looked down.
“I applied.
They accepted me.
So I came here.
Thank you.”
She sat down.
Her heart was racing.
But she had done it.
Professor Elvin smiled.
She’s special, he thought.
Different from the others.
Humble.
Hardworking.
Pure.
In the back row, Amir sat still.
His eyes were on her.
Brown eyes, he thought.
Soft voice.
Covered face.
She doesn’t even know I exist.
But I —
He stopped the thought.
No, he told himself.
She’s a student.
Just a student.
But his heart wasn’t listening.
The Subjects
Professor Elvin turned to the whiteboard.
Marker in hand.
Cap off.
He wrote:
Software Engineering
Programming
Advanced English
Economics
Discrete Mathematics
Networking
He stepped back.
“These are your subjects for the first semester.
Nine to twelve — theory.
Then lunch.
Then one-thirty to three — practical work.
In this lab.
Lab 2.”
He paused.
“Now — introduction to Software Engineering.”
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Introduction to Software Engineering
Professor Elvin turned to face the class.
“Software Engineering is not just coding,” he began.
“Coding is a tool.
A hammer.
A brush.
But software engineering — that is architecture.
That is design.
That is building something that lasts.”
He walked slowly across the front of the room.
“Think of a bridge.
Anyone can throw steel across a river.
But will it hold?
Will it survive the wind?
The rain?
The weight of thousands of cars?”
He stopped.
“Software is the same.
Anyone can write code.
But will it work when a million people use it?
Will it survive a hacker’s attack?
Will it still be running in ten years?”
The class was silent.
C listened.
Her pen was ready.
Her register was open.
“Software Engineering is about process,” Professor Elvin continued.
“Requirements — what does the user need?
Design — how will we build it?
Implementation — writing the actual code.
Testing — finding the mistakes.
Maintenance — keeping it alive.”
He wrote on the board:
SDLC — Software Development Life Cycle
Requirement → Design → Implementation → Testing → Deployment → Maintenance
“This is the heart of our field.
If you master this — you can build anything.”
He turned back to the class.
“Some of you will be brilliant coders.
Some of you will be amazing designers.
Some of you will be natural leaders.
But all of you — all of you — will learn how to think.”
He looked at C.
She was writing.
Her pen moving quickly, her eyes focused, her world narrowed to the words on the board.
She’s listening, he thought.
Really listening.
He smiled.
“That’s all for today.
Tomorrow — we begin.”
The class stirred.
Notebooks closed.
Bags zipped.
Voices rose.
C sat still for a moment.
Software Engineering, she thought.
Not just coding.
Building something that lasts.
That’s what I want to do.
Build something that lasts.Chapter 5 — Part 2: The First Day (Continued)
Lab 2 — 10:00 AM
The door opened.
A tall man walked in.
He looked young — forty plus, but his face was smooth, his eyes sharp, his posture easy.
Dark hair, neatly combed.
A simple shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows.
He smiled at the class.
“Hello, good morning, fresh faces.”
His voice was warm — not loud, but clear.
The kind of voice that made you want to listen.
“I am Professor Rizwan.
Your teacher for Discrete Mathematics.”
He picked up the attendance sheet from the desk.
“Let’s see who we have this semester.”
The Attendance
He called names one by one.
“Shiraz?”
“Present, sir.”
“Kim Joseph?”
“Here!”
“Alina?”
A bold wave.
“Yes, sir.”
“Sana Rehman?”
“Present.”
“Sameer Rehman?”
“Yeah.”
“Amir Rehman?”
A quiet nod.
“Here, sir.”
The names continued.
Different accents, different places, different stories.
Then —
“Roll number eleven.”
C’s heart jumped.
“C Ismail?”
She raised her hand slightly.
Her voice was soft — barely audible.
“Present…
sir.”
Professor Rizwan looked up.
He saw a girl in white — hijab, dupatta, mask — eyes down, pen in hand.
Quiet one, he thought.
Focused.
Good.
He marked her present and continued.
Discrete Mathematics
He put the marker down and turned to face the class.
“Discrete Mathematics,” he said slowly, “is not like the math you have studied before.”
He walked to the whiteboard and wrote:
Discrete → Separate.
Distinct.
Individual.
“Discrete means separate.
Not continuous.
Not flowing.
Not smooth like calculus, where every point connects to the next.”
He drew a line on the board — smooth, unbroken.
“This is continuous math.
The math of curves, of motion, of change.”
Then he drew dots — scattered, separate, each one its own little world.
“This is discrete math.
The math of steps.
Of jumps.
Of things that can be counted.”
He turned back to the class.
“Computers speak discrete language.
Zeros and ones.
On and off.
True and false.
Your phone?
Discrete.
Your laptop?
Discrete.
The internet?
Discrete.”
He smiled.
“You cannot learn software engineering without discrete mathematics.
It is the language of the machine.”
The Building Blocks
He wrote on the board:
Logic
Sets
Functions
Relations
Graphs
Proofs
“These are the building blocks,” he said.
“Logic — how to think clearly.
How to separate truth from falsehood.
How to build arguments that cannot break.”
He looked at the class.
“In programming, you use logic every day.
If this — then that.
If not this — then something else.
Every decision a computer makes?
Logic.”
He moved to the next word.
“Sets — collections of things.
Students in this class.
Numbers between one and ten.
Countries in Asia.
Sets are simple.
But from simple sets, we build complex structures.”
“Functions — rules that connect one thing to another.
Input to output.
Question to answer.
Every program you write is a function.
You give it data.
It gives you results.”
“Relations — how things connect.
Friends on social media.
Roads between cities.
Links between websites.”
“Graphs — pictures of relations.
Nodes and edges.
Maps, networks, connections.”
“Proofs — how we know something is true.
Not guessing.
Not believing.
Proving.”
He paused.
“Discrete mathematics teaches you to think like a computer scientist.
Precisely.
Clearly.
Step by step.”
Why It Matters
He leaned against his desk.
“You might ask — why do I need to learn this?
I just want to code.
I just want to build apps.
I just want to make websites.”
He looked at the class.
“Coding is easy.
Anyone can learn to code.
But to build software that lasts — software that is correct, efficient, secure — you need to think mathematically.”
He picked up a marker.
“Let me show you.”
He wrote on the board:
If a program has 100 lines of code, how many possible paths can it take?
The class was silent.
“One hundred lines.
Simple.
But the number of possible paths?
Billions.
Trillions.
You cannot test them all.”
He turned around.
“So how do you know your program is correct?
You cannot test every possibility.
You cannot try every input.”
He paused.
“You prove it.”
He wrote:
Proof by induction.
Proof by contradiction.
Proof by construction.
“These are tools.
Weapons.
They allow you to reason about your program without running it.
They allow you to know — with certainty — that your code will work.”
He looked at the class.
“This is why we study discrete mathematics.
Not because it is easy.
Because it is necessary.”
C’s World
C’s pen never stopped moving.
She wrote everything.
Logic.
Sets.
Functions.
Relations.
Graphs.
Proofs.
Her handwriting was neat.
Precise.
Every word in its place.
This is my subject, she thought.
This is what I love.
Numbers that don’t lie.
Logic that never changes.
Truth that can be proven.
She felt calm.
For the first time since arriving in California — she felt at home.
The Clock
Professor Rizwan looked at the clock.
“Time flies when you’re talking about logic.”
A few students laughed.
“We will continue tomorrow.
For now — practice thinking in steps.
Break problems into pieces.
Question your assumptions.”
He smiled.
“That is the heart of discrete mathematics.”
The class stirred.
Notebooks closed.
Pencils dropped.
Her register was full — pages of notes, diagrams, definitions.
I love this subject, she thought.
I really love it.
She closed her register carefully and looked up.
Professor Rizwan was watching her.
He smiled — a small, approving smile.
Good student, he thought.
Paying attention.
Taking notes.
She will do well.
He picked up his files and left the room.
Chapter 5 — Part 2: The First Day (Continued)
Lab 2 — 11:00 AM
The break between classes was short.
Students stretched, whispered, checked their phones.
Some rushed to the bathroom.
Some pulled out snacks.
C stayed in her seat.
Her register was open.
Her pen was moving.
She was reviewing her notes from Discrete Mathematics — rewriting, organizing, making sure everything was clear.
Logic, she wrote.
Sets.
Functions.
Relations.
Graphs.
Proofs.
I need to understand everything.
I cannot afford to fall behind.
The Interruption
Ray leaned over from the seat beside her.
“Hey, girl,” he said, smirking.
“What did you write?
Show us.”
C didn’t look up.
She didn’t move.
She didn’t speak.
He doesn’t exist, she told herself.
Only the notes exist.
Only the studies.
Ray waited.
Nothing.
He laughed awkwardly and leaned back.
“Okay, then.
Keep your secrets.”
His friends snickered.
C wrote on.
The Watching
In the back row, Amir sat quietly.
His eyes were on her.
Not staring.
Not obvious.
Just…
watching.
The way she wrote.
The way she organized her notes.
The way she ignored Ray like he was made of air.
She’s different, he thought.
She doesn’t seek attention.
She doesn’t want to be noticed.
She just wants to learn.
Sameer leaned over.
“Amir, who are you looking at?
Two hours.
You’ve been watching her.”
Amir looked away.
“Nothing.”
Sameer followed his gaze.
He saw C — white hijab, white dupatta, mask, eyes down.
“Nothing?” Sameer laughed.
“You saw Ray, right?
How this rude girl ignored him.
Look at her getup.
So covered.
So quiet.
What is she hiding?”
Amir’s jaw tightened.
“There is nothing wrong with her getup,” he said quietly.
“It’s called respect.”
Sameer rolled his eyes.
“Come on, bro.
These types of girls?
They only want attention.
That’s all.”
Sana leaned over from the other side.
She had been listening.
“I think this is C Ismail,” she said.
“Riya’s roommate.
The one the department assigned to her.”
Amir looked at her.
“You know her?”
Sana shrugged.
“I know of her.
Riya mentioned her.
Scholarship student from Pakistan.
That’s all.”
They didn’t know Azhan had picked her up.
They didn’t know about the airport.
The car.
The seatbelt.
No one knew.
Except Riya.
And Azhan.
And C.
Programming Fundamentals
The door opened.
Professor Elvin walked in, fresh from his office, a stack of papers in his hand.
“Alright, kiddos.
Next subject — Programming Fundamentals.”
He wrote on the board:
Programming Fundamentals
Introduction to Logic and Code
He turned to face the class.
“Programming is not memorization.
It is thinking.
It is creativity.
It is problem-solving.”
He picked up a marker.
“Let me show you.”
He wrote:
print(“Hello, World!”)
“This is the first program every programmer writes.
Simple.
One line.
But inside this line — everything begins.”
He explained:
Variables — containers for data.
Data types — numbers, text, true/false.
Input — getting information from the user.
Output — showing results.
Conditions — if this, then that.
Loops — repeating actions.
Functions — organizing code into reusable pieces.
He wrote examples on the board:
name = input(“Enter your name: “)
print(“Welcome,”, name)
age = int(input(“Enter your age: “))
if age >= 18:
print(“Adult”)
else:
print(“Minor”)
for i in range(5):
print(i)
C wrote everything.
Her pen moved quickly — faster than before.
Every word, every symbol, every explanation.
This is what I love, she thought.
This is why I came here.
To learn this.
To master this.
The Questions
Professor Elvin finished his lecture.
“Any questions, kiddos?”
The class was silent.
Students looked at their notes, at the board, at each other.
No one raised their hand.
They don’t have questions, C thought.
Or they’re afraid to ask.
She had questions.
Many questions.
But she didn’t raise her hand.
I am new, she thought.
I don’t know anyone.
I don’t know if I should speak.
What if they laugh?
What if I say something wrong?
Professor Elvin scanned the room.
His eyes stopped on C.
“Kiddo,” he said gently.
“Do you have any questions?”
All the students turned to look at her.
C’s heart stopped.
Everyone is watching, she thought.
Everyone.
She nodded — small, nervous.
Professor Elvin smiled.
“Go on, kiddo.
Ask.
It’s okay.”
C swallowed.
Her voice was soft — barely audible.
“Sir…
you explained variables and data types.
But…
what happens in memory?
When we create a variable…
where does it go?
How does the computer know where to find it?”
The class was silent.
That’s actually a good question, someone whispered.
Professor Elvin’s eyes lit up.
“Excellent question, kiddo.”
He turned to the board and drew a simple diagram.
“Memory is like a row of lockers.
Each locker has a number — an address.
When you create a variable, the computer finds an empty locker, stores your value there, and remembers the address.”
He wrote:
x = 10
Memory address of x: 1001
Value stored at 1001: 10
“When you use the variable name — x — the computer looks up the address and retrieves the value.”
C nodded.
She wrote everything down.
“Any other questions?” Professor Elvin asked.
C raised her hand again — more confident this time.
“Sir…
when we use loops, how does the computer know when to stop?
Does it check the condition every time?
And what about infinite loops — how do they happen?”
Professor Elvin smiled wider.
She’s thinking, he thought.
Really thinking.
Not just memorizing.
He explained — loop conditions, iteration counters, termination criteria.
He showed an example of an infinite loop:
while True:
print(“This will never stop”)
“See?
The condition is always true.
So the loop never ends.
That’s why we must be careful.”
C wrote everything.
Her register was filling quickly — pages of notes, diagrams, code examples.
I need to understand, she thought.
Not just write.
Understand.
The End of Class
Professor Elvin looked at the clock.
“Alright, kiddos.
Class dismissed.
One-thirty — Lab 2.
Be on time.”
Students began packing.
Bags zipped.
Chairs scraped.
Voices rose.
C stayed in her seat, finishing her last sentence.
Professor Elvin walked toward the door — then stopped.
He looked back at her.
Intelligent, he thought.
Not confident yet.
But polite.
Calm.
Hungry to learn.
She will go far.
He left the room.
C closed her register carefully.
She looked at her notes — pages and pages, already full.
One day, she thought, I will understand everything.
One day, I will be the best.
InshaAllah.
She packed her bag and stood up.
She asked her questions, soft and low, A mind that wanted more to know.
Not confident, but brave inside— A quiet storm, a rising tide.
He watched her write, he saw her shine, A student who would redefine— What it means to work, to learn, to grow.
A seed that someone helped to sow.
— To be continued..