CHAPTER 8 ( Part 2 )
1337 Words
A few teachers looked up as they entered.
"Looking for something?" one of them asked.
"A blue folder," Amna replied.
"No luck."
The search continued.
The library.
The activity hall.
Even the small stationery cupboard beside the administration office.
Every place ended the same way.
Empty-handed.
As they stepped back into the corridor, Amna let out a quiet sigh.
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I."
"You wouldn't have taken it home without remembering."
"I didn't."
"And no one else has a key to your cabinet."
Aizal slipped her hand into her pocket.
The small key was still there.
Cold against her fingertips.
She frowned.
"If the cabinet was locked..."
Her sentence trailed away.
Neither of them finished the thought.
A group of students hurried past them, laughing about something that had happened in class.
The sound faded down the corridor.
For a brief moment, everything felt normal again.
Then—
"Miss Aizal!"
She turned.
Hamza stood a few steps away, clutching a sketchbook against his chest.
"I've been looking for you."
"What happened?"
He walked closer.
"I forgot my drawing yesterday."
"Oh?"
He opened the sketchbook and carefully pulled out a folded sheet.
"I found it behind the drying rack this morning."
Aizal recognised it immediately.
The grey landscape.
The narrow pathway disappearing into mist.
The distant building.
Hamza smiled shyly.
"I thought you'd think I lost it."
"I'm glad you found it."
He held the page out.
"Can you keep it until school finishes?"
"Of course."
She took the painting carefully.
"Thank you."
His shoulders relaxed.
"See you later, Miss."
"See you."
Hamza disappeared into the crowd.
Aizal unfolded the paper before slipping it into her file.
Her eyes rested on the drawing for only a second.
Something caught her attention.
She stopped walking.
Amna noticed immediately.
"What is it?"
Aizal didn't answer.
She looked more closely at the painting.
Yesterday, the building had been hidden behind layers of soft grey fog.
Today...
The fog looked thinner.
Not everywhere.
Only around the entrance.
Just enough for the outline of what looked like an old iron gate to become visible.
Amna leaned closer.
"That's the same drawing from yesterday, isn't it?"
Aizal nodded slowly.
Neither of them spoke.
The paper remained perfectly still in Aizal's hands.
Yet she couldn't remember seeing that gate before.Aizal thanked the vice principal before stepping out of the office.
Amna was waiting on the bench across the corridor. The moment she noticed Aizal, she stood.
"Did she say anything?"
"They're going to review the CCTV footage after school."
Amna nodded.
"That's a relief."
"I just hope it answers something."
They continued down the corridor side by side.
The lunch break had ended only a few minutes earlier. Most of the students had already returned to their classrooms, leaving the hallways quieter than before. The faint murmur of lessons drifted through the closed classroom doors, blending with the rhythmic squeak of a mop somewhere farther down the corridor.
As they reached the turn leading toward the administration office, an elderly woman appeared from the opposite side.
She wore the school's maintenance uniform, a ring of keys clipped neatly to her waist. A small stack of office files rested against one arm while the other held a cleaning cloth.
She walked carefully, watching her steps.
Just before reaching the office, the top file slipped.
The papers scattered across the floor.
"Oh..."
She stopped immediately and bent to collect them.
Aizal reached her first.
"Here, let me help."
"You don't have to."
"It's alright."
Amna knelt beside them, gathering the loose sheets before the air from a nearby ceiling fan could carry them farther along the corridor.
Within moments, the papers were back inside the file.
The elderly woman accepted it with a quiet smile.
"Thank you."
"It would've taken much longer on my own."
"It was no trouble," Aizal replied.
The woman inclined her head politely.
Without another word, she adjusted the files in her arms and continued toward the administration office at the same unhurried pace.
Aizal watched her for only a second before turning away.
Something white near the notice board caught her attention.
It wasn't one of the office papers.
A small folded sheet rested partly beneath the wooden frame, as though someone had tucked it there in a hurry.
"What is it?" Amna asked.
"I'm not sure."
Aizal crouched and pulled it free.
The paper was ordinary.
No school logo.
No writing on the outside.
She unfolded it.
A rough pencil sketch covered the page.
An old iron gate.
Behind it stood a fountain.
The lines were unfinished, yet the image felt strangely familiar.
Amna leaned closer.
"Did one of your students draw that?"
Aizal slowly shook her head.
"I've never seen this before."
Her eyes drifted to the bottom of the page.
A single sentence had been written beneath the sketch.
You almost remembered.Aizal read the sentence again.
Then folded the paper without another word.
"What does it say?" Amna asked.
Aizal hesitated for a moment before handing it over.
Amna unfolded the page, her expression gradually changing from curiosity to confusion.
"...That's odd."
She turned it over.
The back was blank.
"No name. No class. Nothing."
She returned the paper.
"Could it belong to one of the art students?"
"I don't think so."
"The sketch looks unfinished."
"It does."
Aizal slipped the paper inside the transparent folder she was carrying.
"I'll ask the students tomorrow."
Amna nodded.
"Someone must have dropped it."
The explanation sounded reasonable.
Neither of them questioned it.
A voice echoed from the end of the corridor.
"Miss Aizal?"
They turned.
Mrs. Khalid stood outside her office.
"The security officer has finished preparing the recording."
Aizal looked at Amna.
"I'll come with you."
The three of them walked toward the security room near the administration block.
The room was small, lined with shelves filled with old registers and equipment manuals. Two monitors glowed on a desk beside a computer tower that hummed quietly.
The security officer greeted them with a polite nod.
"I've found yesterday's recording."
He clicked a few keys.
The screen changed.
The corridor outside the staff room appeared.
The timestamp in the corner confirmed yesterday's date.
"Your classroom isn't covered by any camera," he explained, "but this corridor is."
Mrs. Khalid folded her arms.
"Start from the time the teachers left."
The recording began to play.
Teachers passed through the corridor carrying bags and lesson files.
A group of students hurried past, laughing about something that had happened during class.
Aizal appeared on the screen with Amna beside her.
They walked away together.
The corridor became quiet again.
For nearly a minute, nothing unusual happened.
Then Aunt Mina entered the frame.
She pushed a cleaning trolley slowly down the corridor before stopping outside the staff room.
She unlocked the trolley, took out a mop and began cleaning the floor as she always did.
Amna smiled faintly.
"She must clean this corridor every afternoon."
No one answered.
Aizal's eyes remained on the screen.
Aunt Mina finished mopping one side of the corridor before moving out of the camera's view.
The recording continued.
A teacher crossed the hallway.
Another walked toward the staircase.
Everything appeared completely normal.
Without warning...
The image froze.
A thin line of static flickered across the monitor.
The screen turned grey for the briefest moment.
Then the recording resumed by itself.
The timestamp in the corner had changed.
Three minutes had disappeared.
The security officer frowned.
"That's impossible."
He immediately dragged the video back.
The same thing happened again.
The picture froze.
A flicker.
Then it skipped ahead to the exact same point.
Mrs. Khalid looked at the monitor.
"Can you recover those missing minutes?"
"I'll try."
He replayed the clip one more time.
The result didn't change.
Three minutes were simply...
gone.
Aizal lowered her eyes for a moment.
When she looked back at the screen, the recording had moved on.
The corridor was empty again.
Only a freshly mopped floor reflected the afternoon light filtering through the windows.
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