WHISPERS BENEATH THE CANVAS

CHAPTER 2

Aizal woke with a sudden gasp and quickly sat upright in bed. Her breathing was uneven as she looked around the room, trying to separate the dream from reality. The room was silent, with only the pale moonlight filtering through the half-open window. For a few moments, she remained completely still.

The dream had ended, yet the image of those tiny hands still lingered in her mind. She couldn't remember the little boy's face—only the way he had reached out to her before everything disappeared.

She rubbed her forehead and took a slow breath.

"Who are you?" she whispered, almost expecting an answer.

None came.

The silence made the question feel even heavier.

Trying to distract herself, Aizal got out of bed and walked toward the easel beside the window. The unfinished painting stood exactly where she had left it. The moon reflected beautifully across the calm lake, while the old bridge stretched quietly over the water.

She studied every brushstroke with folded arms before a faint smile appeared on her face.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, gently touching the edge of the canvas.

After a brief silence, she added softly, "But it still isn't complete."

She stood there for another moment, lost in thought, before picking up a clean paintbrush. Without planning anything, she dipped it into a mixture of black and dark blue paint. Her hand moved almost on its own, as though it already knew what belonged on the empty bridge.

Slowly, the silhouette of a little boy began to appear at one corner of the bridge. He stood quietly with his back to the viewer, gazing at the bright full moon above the lake. His face remained hidden, making it impossible to recognise him.

The painting still looked peaceful, yet the lonely figure added a quiet mystery that hadn't been there before.

When she finally stepped back, Aizal found herself staring at the painting longer than she had expected. It felt strange. She had never planned to paint a little boy, yet now she couldn't imagine the painting without him.

"I don't even know who you are," she said with a small smile, "yet somehow you were always meant to be here."

She carefully placed the paintbrush back into the glass jar and wiped her hands with a soft cloth. Feeling tired, she walked across the room and sat on the sofa facing the easel.

From there, the painting looked even more beautiful beneath the silver moonlight. The reflection on the lake, the quiet bridge, and the lonely silhouette blended together so naturally that it almost felt like a memory instead of a painting.

Still gazing at the canvas, Aizal rested her head against the sofa and closed her eyes for just a moment.

She didn't realise when sleep quietly overtook her.

The room fell silent once again as the moonlight continued to shine gently upon the unfinished painting.

The next morning, gentle knocks echoed at her bedroom door before it slowly opened.

Mrs. Hashmi smiled warmly as she stepped inside.

"I had a feeling I'd find you here."

She walked over to the sofa and gently touched Aizal's shoulder.

"Wake up, sweetheart."

Aizal slowly opened her eyes and sat up. Almost immediately, her gaze drifted toward the painting.

She stood and quietly walked closer.

Mrs. Hashmi joined her, admiring the artwork with a smile.

"It was already beautiful," she said softly, "but now it looks even more beautiful. I don't know what you added, sweetheart, but somehow... it finally feels complete."

Aizal looked at the painting once more.

Her eyes settled on the faceless boy standing at the corner of the bridge, facing the moon.

A thoughtful expression crossed her face.

Why did I paint him?

I never planned to add anyone...

She continued staring for another moment before a faint smile appeared.

"Whatever the reason..." she whispered to herself, "it really does look better."Taking out her phone, she captured a few photographs of the painting from different angles before selecting the one she liked the most.

She opened her i********: page, where she had been sharing her artwork for years, and uploaded the painting with a simple caption.

Some stories don't need a face to be felt.

After putting her phone aside, she freshened up and went downstairs.

The comforting aroma of breakfast filled the dining room.

"Assalamu Alaikum," she greeted with a smile.

"Wa Alaikum Assalam," Mr. and Mrs. Hashmi replied together.

As they enjoyed breakfast, Mr. Hashmi looked at his daughter thoughtfully.

"So... when are you finally joining the company?"

Aizal smiled knowingly.

"I knew this question was coming."

Mr. Hashmi chuckled.

"I've already kept the Vice President's position ready for you. One day this company will be yours to manage. I don't want you to rush, but I do want you to start preparing."

Aizal took a sip of tea before replying gently.

"I will join, Dad. I promise. Just... give me a little more time."

Mr. Hashmi nodded with an understanding smile.

"I trust you."

Mrs. Hashmi looked at Aizal with concern.

"You don't look well. Were you awake all night again?"

Aizal gave a sheepish smile.

"I couldn't sleep after a strange dream... then I finished my painting."

Mrs. Hashmi shook her head with a smile.

"Then you're not going to school today."

"I already decided to take leave," Aizal said.

"Good," Mr. Hashmi replied. "Get some rest today."

After breakfast, Aizal spent the rest of the morning helping Mrs. Hashmi around the house. Together, they arranged fresh flowers, prepared lunch, folded clean clothes, and chatted about ordinary little things that filled the home with warmth.

By evening, Aizal went back upstairs to her room. As soon as she entered, her eyes fell on the painting she had completed the night before.

"Oh, I forgot this here."

She picked up the painting and stepped out of her room.

Then she opened the door to the room beside her bedroom.

Her painting room.

The familiar scent of fresh canvas and acrylic colours welcomed her instantly.

She smiled.

This room had always been her favourite place in the house.

Every wall displayed paintings from different stages of her life.

One corner held the very first painting she had completed as a little girl—a slightly crooked painting of a smiling white cat that still made her laugh whenever she looked at it.

Nearby hung landscapes, sunsets, rainy streets, flowers, mountains, old villages, oceans, portraits without names, and countless sketches that filled the wooden shelves.

Several medals hung neatly beside framed certificates she had earned in school, college, and national art competitions. Old easels stood in one corner beside stacked canvases waiting to be painted, while jars filled with brushes of every size rested on a long wooden table stained with years of colourful memories.

Every corner of the room reflected one simple truth.

Painting had never been just a hobby.

It had always been a part of her life.As she carefully placed the new painting in its place, her phone vibrated.

Instagram notifications.

She smiled and opened the app.

Her latest painting had already begun receiving comments.

"Your paintings always feel alive."

"I don't know why, but this one touched my heart."

"You paint emotions instead of colours."

"The faceless boy makes this painting unforgettable."

Another notification appeared.

"Is this painting for sale? I'd love to buy it."

Aizal smiled and typed her reply.

"Thank you so much for your kind words. I'm truly grateful, but this painting is part of my personal collection and isn't for sale."

She locked her phone with a content smile.

Just then, it rang again.

This time, it wasn't a notification.

It was Amna.

Aizal answered immediately.

"Assalamu Alaikum, Amna."

There was no cheerful greeting from the other side.

Only uneasy breathing.

Aizal's smile slowly faded.

"Amna... what happened?"

Silence.

Then came a trembling breath.

"Please... tell me what's wrong."

The line remained quiet for another painful second.

Aizal's heart began to race.

"Amna... say something."