CHAPTER 10 ( Part 2 )
1308 Words
A soft knock came from the open doorway.
"Miss?"
Aizal looked up.
It was Hamza.
He stood quietly with a notebook tucked beneath his arm.
"I wanted to return this."
"You could have left it on my desk."
"I know."
He hesitated.
"I wanted to say thank you."
Aizal smiled.
"For what?"
"You always look at everyone's painting properly."
"Other teachers look quickly."
"You don't."
For a brief moment, she didn't know what to say.
Instead, she accepted the notebook and smiled.
"That's because every painting deserves to be seen."
Hamza lowered his eyes with a shy smile.
"My grandfather says people only lose things when nobody is looking."
The sentence came so unexpectedly that Aizal blinked.
"What do you mean?"
He shrugged.
"I don't know."
"He says strange things sometimes."
Children often repeated the words of adults without thinking much about them.
Even so...
Something about that sentence lingered after Hamza had thanked her once again and quietly left.
People only lose things...
...when nobody is looking.
---
Later that afternoon, Aizal walked toward the library to return several art reference books she had borrowed for her students.
The school librarian greeted her warmly.
"Finished with these already?"
"For now."
"I'll probably borrow them again before the exhibition."
The librarian laughed.
"I expected as much."
As she signed the return register, her eyes wandered across the noticeboard behind the counter.
Several announcements had been pinned there.
A poetry competition.
A science fair.
An inter-school debate.
One small notice, tucked into the bottom corner, had almost slipped beneath another sheet.
She couldn't read all of it from where she stood.
Only a few printed words remained visible.
City Historical Archive
The rest of the page was hidden.
She frowned slightly.
The librarian noticed.
"Oh, that?"
She reached over and straightened the paper.
"The archive is organising a public exhibition next month."
"Old photographs, historical documents, things like that."
"They've been asking schools to encourage students to visit."
Aizal glanced over the notice for only a few seconds.
"It sounds interesting."
"It usually is."
The librarian smiled.
"They uncover fascinating pieces of local history every year."
Aizal nodded politely before handing over the final book.
"Thank you."
"My pleasure."
As she left the library, she found herself thinking about the notice for reasons she couldn't quite explain.
Not because of the exhibition itself.
But because she had always been drawn to old places...
And the stories they carried.
---
The final school bell echoed across the campus.
Almost instantly, the peaceful atmosphere disappeared.
Classroom doors opened.
Students spilled into the corridors.
Laughter returned.
Teachers reminded children not to forget homework.
Parents waited outside the main gate.
It was the familiar end of another ordinary school day.
Aizal gathered the remaining folders from her desk before switching off the classroom lights.
She reached for the door.
Then paused.
Her eyes drifted across the room one last time.
Everything looked exactly as it should.
The drying rack stood neatly against the wall.
The paint jars had been washed.
The windows reflected the golden light of the late afternoon.
Satisfied, she closed the door behind her.
This time...
She waited.
One second.
Two.
Three.
The handle didn't move.
The door remained shut.
A small smile appeared on her face.
Perhaps yesterday had been nothing more than an unfortunate coincidence after all.
She adjusted the strap of her bag and continued down the corridor, unaware that someone standing at the far end briefly looked in her direction before quietly disappearing around the corner.
By the time Aizal reached the entrance, the corridor was empty once again.By the time Aizal reached home, dusk had settled over the city.
The familiar warmth of the house greeted her the moment she stepped inside.
Voices drifted from the dining room.
The aroma of freshly prepared dinner filled the air.
For the first time since the lesson plans had mysteriously disappeared, she allowed herself to believe the matter was finally over.
At least, that was what she wanted to believe.
---
Dinner passed with the easy comfort that only family could bring.
Her father spoke animatedly about a client who had spent half an hour arguing over something that could have been settled in five minutes.
Mrs. Hashmi laughed.
"People enjoy making life difficult."
"They certainly enjoy making my life difficult."
"You say that every week."
"Because every week someone proves me right."
Aizal smiled quietly, listening more than speaking.
The conversation wandered from family gatherings to wedding invitations, from favourite desserts to old childhood memories.
For a little while, the questions weighing on her mind became quieter.
Not gone.
Just... quieter.
---
Later that night, she carried a mug of warm tea upstairs.
Her room was exactly as she had left it that morning.
The easel stood near the window.
The painting remained covered beneath its white cloth.
She walked past it without stopping.
Instead, she sat at her desk and opened her laptop.
Her art page greeted her with the usual collection of notifications.
New followers.
Several encouraging comments.
A handful of messages asking whether the gate-and-fountain painting would ever be available as a print.
She smiled politely before replying to only a few.
Then she closed the page.
She wasn't in the mood to spend the evening online.
After shutting the laptop, she leaned back in her chair and let the silence settle around her.
Her eyes drifted toward the notebook lying beside the lamp.
Without thinking, she opened it.
Blank pages.
Waiting.
She picked up a pencil.
The tip hovered above the paper.
Nothing came.
Not a single line.
After several quiet seconds, she placed the pencil back exactly where it had been.
"Maybe tomorrow."
She whispered the words more to herself than anyone else.
---
The house had fallen completely silent by the time she changed for bed.
A cool breeze slipped through the slightly open window, carrying with it the distant sounds of the city settling into the night.
She walked over and closed the window halfway.
As she reached for the curtains, something below caught her attention.
Across the street, a car slowed near the entrance of the lane.
Its headlights swept briefly across the houses before the vehicle continued forward without stopping.
Aizal watched it disappear around the corner.
Nothing unusual.
Visitors often lost their way in the neighbourhood.
She pulled the curtains shut.
Switched off the lights.
And climbed into bed.
---
Sleep refused to come.
She turned onto one side.
Then the other.
Fragments of the past two days drifted through her thoughts.
The missing lesson plans.
The storage room.
The recovered files.
Questions that had arrived without invitation... and refused to leave.
Eventually, exhaustion began to win.
Her eyes slowly closed.
---
On the bedside table, her phone screen lit up.
A notification.
No sound.
No vibration.
Only a soft glow in the darkness.
Aizal opened her eyes almost immediately.
She reached for the phone.
The notification bar showed only a single line.
You have received one new message.
There was no sender's name.
No preview.
Only those few words.
Her heartbeat slowed.
For a brief second, she simply stared at the screen.
Then she unlocked the phone.
The notification disappeared.
She opened the messaging application.
Nothing.
She checked another.
Still nothing.
She searched her inbox.
Empty.
No unread messages.
No unknown numbers.
No new requests.
She frowned.
Perhaps it had been a delayed system notification.
Or perhaps she had imagined reading it while half asleep.
After another moment, she locked the phone and placed it back on the table.
"This is getting ridiculous."
She let out a quiet breath, turned off the screen, and closed her eyes once more.
Outside, the wind whispered softly through the trees.
Inside the room...
The phone remained dark.
For exactly one second.
Then, without a sound, the screen illuminated again.
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