CHAPTER 7 ( Part 2 )
985 Words
Aizal laughed quietly.
"Was it that obvious?"
"To everyone else? Probably not."
She smiled.
"To me? Very."
For a moment, Aizal considered telling her about the dream.
The gate.
The children.
The strange feeling that refused to leave her.
Instead, she simply shook her head.
"I couldn't sleep properly."
Amna accepted the answer without pressing further.
"Then promise me you'll get some rest tonight."
"I'll try."
Just then, the staff room door opened.
"Miss Hashmi?"
Aizal looked up.
The vice principal stood at the entrance with her usual calm smile.
"One of your students' mothers would like to meet you before she leaves."
"Of course."
Aizal excused herself and walked towards the reception area.
A little girl stood there, holding a painting almost as big as herself.
The moment she saw Aizal, her face lit up.
"Miss!"
Aizal smiled warmly.
"Hello, Hiba."
The little girl proudly held up her artwork.
"I wanted to show Mama first."
"I'm glad you did."
Her mother smiled appreciatively.
"She's been talking about your art class all afternoon."
Hiba looked up at her mother.
"Miss Aizal says paintings don't have to be perfect."
Aizal smiled.
"I said they should be honest."
The little girl nodded enthusiastically.
"That's what I meant."
All three of them laughed.
Hiba's mother looked at Aizal again.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For giving her confidence."
"She used to throw away every drawing if one little thing went wrong."
The woman gently squeezed her daughter's shoulder.
"Now she says mistakes can become part of the picture."
Aizal's smile softened.
"I'm happy to hear that."
After exchanging a few more words, the mother and daughter left the school together.
Aizal watched them walk through the front gate until they disappeared from sight.
A small smile remained on her face.
Moments like these reminded her why she loved teaching.
The rest of the afternoon passed peacefully.
The final bell echoed through the building, and within minutes the corridors filled with students rushing towards the exit.
Teachers wished one another goodbye before heading home.
Aizal returned to her classroom one last time to collect her bag.
She glanced around the room, making sure nothing had been left behind.
The paintings were neatly arranged on the drying rack.
The paint bottles were closed.
The windows were locked.
Satisfied, she switched off the lights.
As she stepped into the corridor, she reached back and pulled the classroom door shut.
Click.
She had barely taken three steps when she heard it.
A faint sound behind her.
She turned.
The classroom door stood slightly open.
Aizal frowned.
"I'm sure I closed it..."
She walked back and pushed it shut again, checking the handle this time.
It didn't move.
Locked.
"Maybe I didn't pull it properly the first time."
She smiled at herself and started walking again.
This time, she didn't look back.
Outside, the evening breeze carried the scent of rain through the school courtyard as Aizal made her way towards the parking area,By the time Aizal reached home, the sun had already begun to set.
The evening passed quietly.
She helped her mother set the dinner table, listened as Mr. Hashmi shared a few stories from work, and laughed when both her parents started teasing each other over something as simple as who made the better tea.
For a while, everything felt normal.
The strange dream stayed at the back of her mind, but she didn't mention it.
Some things were easier to keep to herself.
Later that night, Aizal returned to her room.
She changed into comfortable clothes before walking towards the window.
The city lights shimmered beneath the dark sky, and a cool breeze slipped through the slightly open glass.
Her eyes wandered to the easel in the corner.
The mysterious painting was still there.
She looked at it for a long moment.
The dim room...
The rain against the window...
The blurred painting hanging on the distant wall...
Nothing had changed.
Yet every time she looked at it, it felt as though she had missed something.
She quietly drew the curtains and switched off the room light.
Only the bedside lamp remained on.
After offering her Isha prayer, she picked up her phone, intending to set the morning alarm before going to sleep.
A notification appeared at the top of the screen.
New comment on your post.
She frowned.
It was late.
Most people who interacted with her artwork usually left simple compliments during the day.
Curious, she tapped the notification.
Her art page opened.
The painting she had uploaded the previous night had received hundreds of likes.
Most comments were exactly what she expected.
"Beautiful work."
"Your use of light is amazing."
"I love the atmosphere."
She scrolled a little farther.
Then her thumb stopped.
One comment stood out from all the others.
«Where did you see this room?»
Aizal frowned.
She typed a short reply.
«I didn't. It's from my imagination.»
Less than ten seconds passed.
A new notification appeared.
The same account had replied.
«No...»
«You didn't imagine it.»
Aizal's heartbeat slowed.
She tapped the profile.
No profile picture.
No posts.
No followers.
No name.
Just a newly created account.
She looked back at the comment section.
Her fingers hovered above the keyboard.
Finally, she typed.
«Who are you?»
The message showed as sent.
For a few seconds...
Nothing happened.
Then—
Typing...
Aizal stared at the screen without blinking.
The three little dots remained there for several seconds.
Then they disappeared.
A new reply appeared.
«Tell me one thing first...»
«Who showed you that room?»
Aizal felt a chill run down her spine.
She looked towards the painting resting silently on the easel.
Then back at her phone.
Her fingers froze above the screen.
She didn't know which question frightened her more.
The stranger's...
Or the one forming in her own mind.
How could someone else know the room she had painted without ever seeing it?
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