CHAPTER 10 ( Part 1 )
1885 Words
The cool evening air greeted Aizal the moment she stepped out of the neighboring house.
The laughter she had shared with everyone inside seemed to fade with each step she took towards the car.
Something about that painting refused to leave her mind.
She had painted the old iron gate exactly as she remembered it from her dream.
The fountain.
The narrow stone pathway.
The veil of mist.
Every brushstroke had come from memory.
Yet the blurred silhouette standing beyond the fountain...
She couldn't remember painting it.
She had replayed every moment in her mind on the drive home, trying to convince herself that exhaustion had played tricks on her.
Perhaps she had added a few careless strokes without noticing.
Artists often became so absorbed in their work that small details escaped their attention.
It was the only explanation that made sense.
Still...
The uneasiness remained.
She rested her forehead lightly against the cool glass of the passenger window as the city lights drifted past.
Her mother noticed the silence.
"You've hardly said a word since we left."
Aizal turned with a faint smile.
"I'm just tired."
Mrs. Hashmi studied her daughter for a moment before reaching across to gently squeeze her hand.
"You work too much."
Mr. Hashmi chuckled from the driver's seat.
"I've been saying that for months."
"I heard both of you the first hundred times."
"You never listen."
"I do."
"No," her father laughed, "you only pretend to."
For the first time that evening, Aizal smiled without forcing it.
The conversation drifted towards lighter topics before they reached home.
---
By the time Aizal changed into comfortable clothes, the house had grown quiet.
She placed her earrings inside the small velvet tray on her dresser before walking towards the easel near the window.
The painting stood exactly where she had left it.
She didn't touch it.
Instead, she folded her arms and simply looked.
The iron gate.
The fountain.
The silent garden.
The blurred figure.
She narrowed her eyes.
Nothing looked different now.
Nothing moved.
Nothing felt unusual.
A small, embarrassed smile touched her lips.
"I'm overthinking."
She quietly covered the painting with a clean white cloth before switching off the room light.
---
The following morning arrived with clear skies.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains, carrying with it the comforting sounds of everyday life.
The clatter of dishes downstairs.
Her mother's voice calling one of the house staff.
The aroma of freshly brewed tea.
Everything felt reassuringly ordinary.
After offering Fajr prayer, Aizal lingered by the window for a few moments before getting ready.
Unlike the previous day, she wasn't rushing anywhere.
She still couldn't understand it.
Nor could she explain why those missing minutes on the security footage bothered her more than the papers themselves.
---
The familiar school building came into view just after nine.
For the first time in days, nothing unusual happened as she walked through the front gate.
Students hurried across the courtyard with bags bouncing against their shoulders.
A football rolled across the path before two boys chased after it, apologizing breathlessly as they passed.
Teachers exchanged warm greetings in the corridor.
The ordinary rhythm of the school settled around her like something familiar.
It was comforting.
Perhaps that was exactly what she needed.
"Miss Aizal!"
She turned at once.
A small group of children came running towards her, nearly colliding with one another in their excitement.
"You came back!"
"We thought you weren't coming today!"
"Miss, Hamza finished his painting!"
"And Bilal finally painted green trees!"
Aizal laughed.
"I should congratulate him for that."
"He said purple was more interesting."
"I still think it is."
The children burst into laughter.
One by one, they began talking over each other until none of them could be understood.
Aizal raised both hands with an amused smile.
"One at a time."
The corridor gradually became quieter as the students returned to their classrooms.
Just then, Amna appeared from the opposite end of the hallway carrying a stack of notebooks.
"I should've guessed you'd be surrounded before making it halfway inside."
"They're making it impossible to leave."
"They've missed you."
Amna's smile softened.
"So have I."
The two friends walked together towards the staff room.
For a brief moment, Aizal glanced towards the far end of the corridor.
The cleaning lady was quietly mopping the floor near the staircase, her attention fixed entirely on her work.
Nothing about the scene seemed unusual.
Aizal looked away without another thought.
---
Inside the staff room, the familiar aroma of tea filled the air.
Several teachers were discussing exam schedules while others sorted answer sheets into neat piles.
Amna placed the notebooks on the table before lowering her voice.
"I spoke to the administration this morning."
Aizal looked up.
"And?"
"The lesson plans were found."
Her expression remained calm, though her fingers tightened slightly around the cup she had just picked up.
"Where?"
"In the storage room."
Aizal frowned.
"The same storage room we checked yesterday?"
Amna nodded slowly.
"Every shelf."
"Every cabinet."
"We even looked behind the old cartons."
"And today..."
"They were sitting inside a blue archive box."
Silence settled between them.
Aizal stared into her untouched tea.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Finally, she asked quietly,
"Who found them?"
"The office assistant."
"Did anyone say how they got there?"
Amna shook her head.
"No."
"They were simply... there."
Neither woman tried to fill the silence that followed.
Because neither of them had an answer that truly satisfied them.Aizal remained seated long after the folders had been returned to the cabinet.
The staff room had grown quieter.
One teacher had left for class.
Another was busy checking answer sheets near the window.
Someone switched on the electric kettle, and the soft bubbling sound filled the silence.
Everything around her carried on as though yesterday had never happened.
Yet the unanswered questions refused to leave her mind.
"You're thinking again."
Amna slid into the chair opposite her, setting down two cups of tea.
"I can tell."
Aizal accepted one with a faint smile.
"I was just trying to make sense of it."
"And?"
"It still doesn't."
Amna wrapped both hands around her cup.
"If we keep looking for an explanation, we'll end up making ourselves more confused."
"Maybe."
"Maybe not."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Aizal looked up.
"Who has access to the storage room?"
"The vice principal."
"The office assistant."
"The administrative staff."
"And the cleaning staff, when they're asked to clean inside."
Aizal nodded slowly.
"That's quite a few people."
"It is."
"But none of them had any reason to hide your lesson plans."
"That's what bothers me."
Amna studied her friend carefully.
"You think someone did it on purpose."
"I don't know what to think."
Her answer was quiet, almost absent-minded.
"I just don't like questions without answers."
---
The second bell rang.
Teachers began leaving the staff room one after another.
Amna gathered her notebooks.
"I have Year Seven waiting for me."
"They're already impatient enough."
Aizal laughed softly.
"Go. I'll bring the remaining folders."
"You don't have to."
"I know."
"But it'll be faster."
Amna smiled.
"I won't argue with free help."
The two stepped into the corridor together.
Children hurried past them in neat lines, laughing and whispering despite repeated reminders to walk instead of run.
The atmosphere felt exactly the way a school should.
Bright.
Busy.
Alive.
Aizal found herself smiling as several students waved enthusiastically.
"Good morning, Miss Aizal!"
"Good morning."
A little girl suddenly stopped in front of her.
"Miss, look!"
She proudly opened her sketchbook.
Inside was a painting of a sunflower almost as large as the page itself.
The flower wasn't perfectly shaped.
Some petals were too long.
Others were uneven.
But the colours glowed with happiness.
"It's beautiful," Aizal said sincerely.
The little girl's face lit up.
"I didn't erase anything this time."
Aizal smiled.
"I'm glad."
"My mother said the petals weren't the same."
"And what did you say?"
The child grinned.
"I said flowers don't use rulers."
Amna laughed under her breath.
"That sounds familiar."
Aizal smiled.
"I wonder where she learned it."
The little girl giggled before skipping back towards her classroom.
For a brief moment, yesterday's uneasiness felt farther away.
---
They reached the administration corridor.
The vice principal was speaking with the office assistant near the records office.
She noticed them and smiled.
"Miss Aizal."
"I'm glad everything has been sorted."
"So am I," Aizal replied politely.
"I appreciate everyone's effort."
The vice principal nodded.
"Sometimes the simplest situations become more complicated than they should."
Aizal glanced briefly toward the closed records room.
"The storage room has been checked again?"
"Twice."
"There was nothing unusual."
That answer should have been enough.
It wasn't.
Before she could ask anything else, the office telephone rang.
The vice principal excused herself.
"We'll speak again later."
---
As Aizal and Amna continued walking, they reached the staircase leading toward the ground floor.
A cleaning trolley stood neatly against the wall.
Beside it, one of the school's elderly cleaning staff was carefully arranging a stack of empty cartons before pushing the trolley forward.
She moved slowly, her attention fixed entirely on her work.
As the trolley rolled over a loose tile, one of the cleaning cloths slipped onto the floor.
Without thinking, Aizal bent to pick it up.
"I think this fell."
The elderly woman looked up with gentle surprise.
"Oh... thank you."
Her English carried the quiet softness of someone who spoke only when necessary.
She accepted the cloth with both hands.
"You are very kind."
"It was nothing."
The woman offered a warm smile, nodded once in gratitude, then continued pushing the trolley down the corridor.
Within moments, she disappeared around the corner.
Aizal watched her for only a second before turning back to Amna.
"She must have been here for years."
Amna nodded.
"Long before either of us joined."
"Everyone knows her."
There was nothing unusual about the encounter.
Just another ordinary moment in another ordinary school day.
Yet somehow...
For reasons she couldn't explain...
Aizal found herself glancing once toward the now-empty corridor before following Amna downstairs.By early afternoon, the school had settled into the quiet rhythm that always arrived during examination week.
The corridors, so lively only a few hours earlier, now echoed with little more than the distant ticking of wall clocks and the occasional turning of pages behind closed classroom doors.
Aizal stood outside the art room, carrying a stack of drawing portfolios.
She paused for a moment before opening the door.
The familiar scent of paper and paint greeted her at once.
Sunlight poured through the tall windows, casting long rectangles of light across the wooden floor.
She set the portfolios on her desk and began arranging the materials for the following week's lessons.
Fresh brushes.
Watercolour paper.
Charcoal pencils.
Everything had its place.
Order had always brought her a strange sense of comfort.
Perhaps that was why yesterday had unsettled her so deeply.
Not because the lesson plans had disappeared—
But because, for the first time in a long while, something had happened that she couldn't explain.
She closed the cupboard gently and exhaled.
Enough.
She wasn't going to spend another day chasing questions that led nowhere.
There was work to do.
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