WHISPERS BENEATH THE CANVAS

CHAPTER 5

Aizal stood quietly in front of the mirror for another moment.

Her fingertips slowly slipped away from the faint mark on her face.

"Why did this mark have to be here...?" she whispered.

She looked at her reflection one last time before letting out a soft sigh.

Taking the handkerchief from beside the sink, she gently dried her face and adjusted her dupatta.

Then she stepped out of the washroom.

The school had settled back into its usual rhythm.

The distant sound of students answering their teachers drifted through the corridors as Aizal made her way toward the staff room.

Her thoughts were still elsewhere.

As she turned the corner, she accidentally bumped into an elderly cleaning lady pushing a small bucket.

The bucket shook slightly, and a folded cleaning cloth slipped onto the floor.

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

Aizal immediately bent down, picked up the cloth, and handed it back.

"I'm really sorry. I wasn't paying attention."

The elderly woman accepted it with a small smile.

"It's alright my child"

"I should've been more careful."

"It happens."

Aizal smiled politely.

"Khuda Hafiz."

"Khuda Hafiz."

The two went their separate ways.

•••

The final bell rang a little later, marking the end of the school day.

Teachers began leaving their classrooms while students hurried toward the main gate, filling the school grounds with cheerful voices.

As Aizal walked toward the parking area, she spotted Amna locking her classroom door.

"Ready to go?" Amna asked with a smile.

Aizal nodded before saying,

"Actually... I was thinking."

Amna looked at her.

"If you don't mind... I'd like to come to your house today."

A hint of surprise crossed Amna's face.

"My house?"

Aizal smiled.

"Yes."

"You don't even have to ask."

"I just thought..."

Amna interrupted with a laugh.

"Aizal, you're my best friend."

A warm smile spread across Aizal's face.

"Then let's go."

The drive passed with easy conversation.

Neither of them mentioned the previous day's incident.

Instead, they talked about their students, shared a few funny moments from class, and laughed over one little boy who insisted that every tree should have purple leaves because, according to him, "green is boring."

Before long, Amna turned the car into the driveway of her house.

She parked the car and looked at Aizal.

"Welcome."

Aizal smiled as they stepped out together and walked toward the front door.Before Amna could ring the doorbell, the front door opened.

Her mother smiled the moment she saw them.

"Assalamu Alaikum."

"Wa Alaikum Assalam, Aunty," Aizal replied with a smile.

"Oh, Aizal! What a lovely surprise. Come in, dear."

"Thank you."

As soon as they stepped inside, the comforting aroma of freshly prepared food filled the house.

"I wasn't expecting a guest today," Mrs. Sheikh said warmly, "but I'm so glad you came."

"I hope we're not disturbing you, Aunty."

"Not at all. This house feels happier when Amna brings her friends."

Amna laughed.

"Mama, she says that every time someone visits."

"Because it's true."

The three of them shared a laugh as they walked into the living room.

"Sit down. I'll bring some tea."

Before either of them could respond, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house.

"I'm home!" a familiar voice called out.

A few seconds later, Amna's father stepped inside carrying two paper bags.

He stopped the moment he noticed Aizal.

"Oh! We have a guest today."

Aizal stood politely.

"Assalamu Alaikum, Uncle."

"Wa Alaikum Assalam."

He smiled warmly before holding up the bags.

"Perfect timing. I brought snacks."

Amna looked at the bags with curious eyes.

"What did you get?"

"If I tell you now, the surprise will be ruined."

Mrs. Sheikh shook her head with an amused smile.

"You spoil her too much."

"And whose fault is that?" he replied with a grin.

Everyone laughed.

A few minutes later, the dining table was filled with hot snacks and tea.

The conversation drifted from one topic to another without effort.

Mr. Sheikh asked about school, listened with interest as the two teachers spoke about their students, and laughed at the funny stories they shared from class.

"I still can't believe Hamza painted the sun purple," he said, shaking his head.

Amna laughed.

"And he refused to change it."

"He said yellow was too ordinary," Aizal added, smiling.

Mr. Sheikh chuckled.

"I think he has the heart of an artist."

"He certainly has confidence," Aizal replied.

The room filled with laughter once again.

After tea, Mrs. Sheikh stood up.

"I should start preparing dinner."

"We'll help," Amna said immediately.

Her mother looked at the two of them.

"Only if you promise not to make a bigger mess than last time."

"I promise nothing," Amna replied with a completely serious face.

Aizal couldn't help laughing.

The three of them walked into the kitchen together.

Mrs. Sheikh handed Amna a bowl.

"You can knead the dough."

Amna nodded confidently.

"Leave it to me."

Aizal exchanged an amused glance with her aunt but said nothing.

A few minutes later...

A soft cloud of flour rose into the air.

Amna stared at the counter in disbelief.

Somehow, more flour had landed on her clothes than inside the bowl.

Aizal covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.

Mrs. Sheikh folded her arms.

"I knew this would happen."

"I'm doing perfectly fine," Amna insisted.

Just then, as she reached for the water, the bowl slipped slightly.

A little flour scattered across the counter.

This time, Aizal laughed openly.

"Oh, don't start," Amna said, trying to sound offended.

"I'm trying my best."

"I can see that."

Mrs. Sheikh smiled as she handed Amna a clean cloth.

"Move aside before you declare war on my kitchen."

Amna stepped back dramatically.

"Fine."

"I've officially been fired."

That only made Aizal laugh harder.

Watching her friend's exaggerated expressions, she realised it had been a while since she had laughed like this."Go and sit with your father," Mrs. Sheikh said, smiling. "I'll finish this with Aizal."

Amna placed a hand over her heart dramatically.

"So I've officially been replaced."

"You've officially been rescued," her mother replied.

Mr. Sheikh laughed from the dining room.

"I heard that."

Amna sighed in defeat before walking out.

"Nobody appreciates my cooking."

"They appreciate it," Aizal called after her, trying not to laugh. "They just prefer eating food that doesn't start a flour storm."

Amna turned around and pointed at her.

"I'll remember that."

The kitchen filled with laughter once again.

Aizal rolled up her sleeves and began helping Mrs. Sheikh prepare dinner. They worked side by side, talking about simple things while Amna wandered in and out of the kitchen every few minutes, pretending to supervise.

"You know," Mrs. Sheikh said as she placed a serving dish on the counter, "Amna always smiles more after spending time with you."

Aizal looked towards the doorway, where Amna was busy arguing with her father over who would set the table.

"So do I," she replied softly.

Mrs. Sheikh smiled but said nothing.

By the time dinner was ready, the rain had begun.

Gentle drops tapped against the windows before quickly turning into a steady downpour.

The four of them gathered around the dining table.

The conversation flowed easily between stories, laughter, and light-hearted teasing.

For a little while, nothing seemed rushed.

When dinner ended, Aizal glanced through the window.

The rain was still falling.

"I should leave before it gets any later."

Amna immediately shook her head.

"Not yet."

"It's alright. I'll be fine."

Another roll of thunder echoed outside.

Almost without thinking, Aizal's eyes shifted towards the window again.

Amna noticed the brief change in her expression.

"Stay a little longer," she said gently. "The rain will slow down."

For a moment, Aizal didn't answer.

Then she gave a small nod.

"Alright."

They returned to the living room and continued talking while Mrs. Sheikh brought tea.

Nearly half an hour later, the rain began to ease.

The heavy downpour faded into a light drizzle before stopping altogether.

Amna looked outside first.

"I think it's safe now."

Aizal stood and picked up her handbag.

"I should get going."

Mrs. Sheikh walked her to the door.

"Come again soon, dear."

"In shaa Allah."

Mr. Sheikh smiled warmly.

"Next time, come with more time to spare."

"I will, Uncle."

Amna stepped outside with her.

The streets still glistened from the rain, reflecting the soft glow of the streetlights.

As Aizal reached for her car door, Amna gently touched her arm.

"Text me when you get home."

"I will."

"And drive carefully."

Aizal smiled.

"I always do."

The two friends hugged briefly.

"Allah Hafiz."

"Allah Hafiz."

Aizal got into her car and slowly pulled away.

The roads were quieter than usual after the rain.

As she drove, her eyes caught something near the roadside.

A woman sat beneath a large tree, wrapped in a dark shawl.

Beside her rested several paintings, carefully covered to protect them from the rain.

Aizal slowed the car.

Her gaze lingered on one particular canvas.

For reasons she couldn't explain, it drew her in.

She pulled over, switched off the engine, and stepped outside.

The cool evening air still carried the scent of fresh rain.

She walked towards the woman.

"Assalamu Alaikum."

The woman looked up.

"Wa Alaikum Assalam."

Aizal's eyes returned to the painting.

"It is beautiful."

The woman smiled faintly.

"Thank you."

"I'd like to buy it."

The woman looked at the painting for a moment before gently shaking her head.

"I'm sorry... this one isn't for sale."

Aizal nodded with understanding.

"I understand."

She was about to leave when the woman reached for a small wooden box beside her.

It was painted a deep golden colour.

On its lid was a simple flower with five delicate petals.

The woman held it out to Aizal.

"I can't give you the painting," she said softly, "but you may have this."

Aizal looked at the box in surprise.

"I couldn't possibly—"

"Please."

After a brief hesitation, Aizal accepted it.

"Thank you."

The woman smiled.

"Some things always find their way to where they belong."

Aizal lowered her eyes to the wooden box once more.

Her fingertips lightly brushed over the carved flower on its lid.

For a moment...

Something about it felt strangely familiar.The drive home was quiet.

The roads still shimmered beneath the streetlights, carrying the fresh scent the rain had left behind.

Aizal's eyes drifted to the small wooden box resting on the passenger seat.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel before she looked back at the road.

A few minutes later, she pulled into the driveway.

The lights inside the house were still on.

As she stepped through the front door, Mrs. Hashmi looked up from the sofa.

"You're home."

"Assalamu Alaikum, Mama."

"Wa Alaikum Assalam."

Mrs. Hashmi smiled.

"Did you have a good time?"

"I did."

"You stayed longer than usual."

"I went to Amna's house after school."

Mrs. Hashmi nodded.

"I'm glad. You looked like you needed a change of surroundings."

Aizal smiled quietly.

"Maybe I did."

Just then, Mr. Hashmi walked into the living room with a cup of tea in his hand.

"How's Amna?"

"She's doing better."

"That's good to hear."

After talking for a few more minutes, Aizal excused herself.

"I think I'll get some rest."

"Don't stay up too late," Mrs. Hashmi reminded her.

"I won't."

She climbed the stairs and walked into her room.

After placing her handbag on the chair, she sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the wooden box again.

For a moment, she simply held it in her hands.

Then she slowly lifted the lid.

Inside lay a beautifully crafted paintbrush.

Its wooden handle had darkened slightly with age, yet every strand of the brush remained perfectly neat.

Aizal picked it up carefully.

"It feels... different."

Turning it over, her eyes fell on the lid once more.

The same flower.

Five delicate petals carved into the wood.

Her thumb traced its outline.

She frowned ever so slightly.

"...Have I seen this before?"

The question lingered for a moment.

She searched her memory, but nothing came.

Only a strange feeling she couldn't explain.

With a quiet sigh, she placed the brush back inside the box and set it on the bedside table.

After changing into comfortable clothes, she offered her Isha prayer.

Then she switched off the lamp and lay beneath the blanket.

The room gradually fell silent.

Outside, the wind stirred once again.

A few moments later, raindrops began tapping softly against the window.

The steady sound filled the room.

Aizal turned onto one side.

After a while, she turned again.

Her grip tightened slightly around the edge of the blanket.

Her breathing grew uneven for a brief moment before settling once more.

Sleep slowly drew her in.

...

A child's laughter echoed somewhere in the distance.

Soft.

Faint.

Almost carried by the rain.

Aizal stood in the middle of a dimly lit room.

She looked around.

The place felt unfamiliar...

Yet strangely close.

Rain tapped gently against a nearby window.

She took a cautious step forward.

A painting hung on the far wall.

She couldn't make out what it showed.

She moved closer.

Just a little more...

Before she could see it clearly—

Everything blurred.

The room faded.

The laughter disappeared.

Only the sound of rain remained.

Aizal opened her eyes with a sharp breath.

She sat upright, her heart beating faster than before.

The rain continued outside.

For a long moment, she remained still.

Then, almost without thinking, her eyes shifted toward the bedside table.

The wooden box rested exactly where she had left it.