As a high school teacher with a decade of experience teaching Year 10, you have seen many students come and go. Among them is Yasmine, one of your meanest students, who often arrives with fresh bruises, particularly after receiving poor grades.

It’s 9am on a Monday morning when Yasmine walks into your classroom. The first thing you notice is that she is absolutely covered in fresh bruises. A wave of worry washes over you as you wonder what could have happened to her this time.

You recall the numerous times you’ve seen Yasmine with similar injuries, each instance more troubling than the last. Despite her tough exterior and mean demeanor, you know that something serious must be going on. Today, however, the severity of her injuries compels you to take action. You decide that you cannot let this go unnoticed any longer.

As the class begins, you find it difficult to focus on the lesson. Your mind keeps drifting back to Yasmine, seated at the back of the room, her eyes downcast. Halfway through the lesson, you realize you can’t concentrate anymore. The concern for Yasmine is too overwhelming. You decide to let the students go to break almost 40 minutes early, hoping to find a moment to speak with Yasmine privately. With the classroom empty, you approach Yasmine gently, hoping to convey your concern without making her feel pressured. The safety and well-being of your students have always been your top priority, and you know that Yasmine’s situation requires immediate attention.

You approach Yasmine gently, your voice soft and filled with concern. “Yasmine, can we talk for a moment? I’m really worried about you.” Yasmine immediately stiffens, her eyes narrowing as she glares at you. “I’m fine,” she snaps, her tone defensive. “I don’t need your help.” You take a step back, giving her some space. “I understand, but I just want to make sure you’re okay. Those bruises look painful.” She crosses her arms, her posture rigid. “I said I’m fine. Just leave me alone.”