WHISPERS BENEATH THE CANVAS

CHAPTER 9

The security officer replayed the footage once more.

The same corridor appeared on the monitor.

Teachers passed by.

Students hurried toward the exit.

Aunt Mina pushed her cleaning trolley across the polished floor before disappearing around the corner.

Everything looked exactly as it had a moment ago.

Then the picture trembled.

A thin ripple crossed the screen.

The image blurred for barely a second.

"There," Aizal said quietly.

The security officer paused the recording.

"What did you notice?"

She pointed toward the upper corner of the monitor.

"I think something just passed in front of the camera."

He leaned closer and rewound the clip frame by frame.

For a few moments, nothing seemed unusual.

Then a dark shape flashed across the screen.

A bird landed briefly on the metal arm above the security camera.

Its wings spread once, covering part of the lens before it lifted into the air again.

The security officer nodded.

"That explains the flicker."

Mrs. Khalid looked at the screen.

"But not the missing time."

He pressed play again.

The recording continued normally.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Without warning, the timestamp jumped forward.

Three minutes had vanished.

No distortion.

No warning.

Just... gone.

The security officer tried again.

Then once more.

Each replay ended the same way.

Mrs. Khalid exhaled slowly.

"Can those three minutes be recovered?"

"I'll send the footage to the company that maintains our system," he replied. "If the data still exists, they'll be able to tell us."

"And if it doesn't?"

He hesitated.

"Then we'll have to accept that those minutes are lost."

Silence settled over the room.

Aizal kept her eyes on the monitor until the recording reached its end.

The corridor looked perfectly ordinary.

Nothing about it suggested that three minutes had disappeared.

Mrs. Khalid closed the file she had been holding.

"For now, let's leave it here."

She looked at Aizal.

"If anything else comes to mind, let me know."

"I will."

Aizal and Amna thanked the security officer before stepping out into the corridor.

The afternoon sun poured through the tall windows, casting long rectangles of light across the floor.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Amna was the first to break the silence.

"I was hoping we'd finally get an answer."

"So was I."

"What do you think happened?"

Aizal adjusted the strap of her bag.

"I don't know."

It was the only honest answer she had.

They reached the staff room together.

The blue folder was still missing.

Nothing had changed.

Amna picked up her bag.

"I'll start rewriting the lesson plans tonight."

Aizal looked at her.

"You don't have to do it alone."

"I know."

Amna smiled.

"We'll finish them together."

Aizal returned the smile.

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

They locked the staff room before walking toward the parking area.

Students were already climbing onto buses while parents waited near the school gate.

Within minutes, the school grounds began to empty.

Aizal unlocked her car and placed her bag on the passenger seat.

As she started the engine, her phone vibrated.

A notification appeared across the screen.

New comment on your post.

She glanced at it for only a second before placing the phone face down.

It could wait until she reached home.

For now...

All she wanted was a quiet evening.By the time Aizal reached home, the late afternoon sun had softened into a warm golden glow.

She found her mother in the living room, arranging a few gift boxes inside a decorative basket.

Without looking up, Mrs. Hashmi smiled.

"You're just in time."

Aizal slipped off her shoes near the entrance.

"For what?"

"For helping me decide which sweets we're taking."

Aizal laughed.

"I thought you'd already decided."

"I did."

She paused.

"Then I changed my mind."

"Again?"

Mrs. Hashmi looked at her with complete seriousness.

"Presentation matters."

"It does."

Aizal picked up one of the ribbon-wrapped boxes and turned it over in her hands.

"I like this one."

"So do I."

Mrs. Hashmi took it back with a satisfied smile.

"Good. Now I know I made the right choice."

Mr. Hashmi walked into the room, car keys spinning around one finger.

"Have the two of you finished negotiating with the sweets?"

"We're making an important decision," Mrs. Hashmi replied.

"I can see that."

He smiled at Aizal.

"How was school?"

She placed her bag beside the sofa.

"Busy."

"Everything alright?"

There was a brief pause.

"The lesson plans are still missing."

Mr. Hashmi frowned.

"Any luck finding them?"

She shook her head.

"They're checking the CCTV."

"I hope it leads somewhere."

"So do I."

The conversation drifted to lighter topics as they shared tea together.

For a little while, the missing folder slipped into the background.

...

Later that evening, Aizal carried the folded sketch upstairs.

She placed it on her desk before opening the curtains.

The fading sunlight spilled across the room.

Her eyes wandered to the easel waiting quietly in the corner.

After standing there for a moment, she unfolded the sketch again.

The iron gate.

The fountain behind it.

A few unfinished pencil lines.

Nothing more.

She rested the paper against a paint jar and picked up a fresh canvas.

For several minutes, she simply looked at the blank surface.

Then she reached for a pencil.

The first lines were light.

Careful.

She wasn't trying to copy the sketch perfectly.

Only the parts she remembered.

The tall iron gate came first.

Then the stone pathway beyond it.

The fountain.

She paused now and then, studying the folded paper before adding another detail.

Outside, daylight slowly gave way to evening.

The room grew quieter.

By the time she cleaned the last brush, the painting had begun to dry.

She stepped back.

It wasn't identical to the sketch.

Some details had changed without her noticing.

She tilted her head, studying it from a distance.

Satisfied, she picked up her phone.

A few photographs later, the painting was uploaded to her art page with a simple caption.

"Some places feel familiar... even when you've never been there."

She set the phone aside.

A notification appeared almost immediately.

Then another.

People had already begun reacting to the painting.

This time, she didn't open the comments.

Instead, she switched off the screen and placed the phone beside the wooden box.

A knock sounded at her bedroom door.

"Aizal?"

It was her mother's voice.

"We're leaving in half an hour."

"I'll be ready."

"And don't make me come back up here."

Aizal smiled to herself.

"I won't."

After the footsteps faded, she walked toward her wardrobe.

For a moment, her eyes drifted back to the painting.

The iron gate stood silently beneath the evening sky.

Beyond it...

The fountain waited in complete stillness.Aizal opened her wardrobe and reached for the outfit she had chosen the night before.

A deep emerald dress.

Simple.

Elegant.

She laid it neatly across the bed before fastening a pair of small gold earrings.

By the time she came downstairs, Mr. and Mrs. Hashmi were already waiting near the front door.

Mrs. Hashmi looked her over with an approving smile.

"I knew that colour would suit you."

Mr. Hashmi picked up the basket of gifts.

"If we're all ready, we'd better leave before your mother starts rearranging the ribbons again."

"I heard that," Mrs. Hashmi replied, trying not to laugh.

The drive was short.

The neighbourhood looked especially lively that evening. Warm lights glowed behind windows, children chased one another along the pavement, and the aroma of freshly prepared food drifted through the cool air.

Their hosts welcomed them at the door with warm smiles.

The house buzzed with conversation.

Relatives exchanged greetings.

Neighbours laughed over old memories.

Someone called everyone toward the dining room while children disappeared upstairs in search of games.

It felt like the kind of gathering where every room held a different conversation.

Aizal greeted everyone politely before helping her mother carry a few dishes into the dining area.

After a while, the room grew warmer.

She quietly slipped outside through the glass door leading to the back garden.

The evening breeze brushed gently across her face.

Strings of warm lights hung above the lawn, swaying slightly with the wind.

She rested one hand on the wooden railing and looked toward the far end of the garden.

Beyond the lights, a narrow stone path disappeared into darkness.

For a few peaceful seconds, she simply enjoyed the silence.

Then...

Movement.

Someone crossed the path.

It lasted no more than a heartbeat.

A tall figure.

Nothing more than a dark outline.

It passed behind the trees and was gone.

Aizal straightened immediately.

She narrowed her eyes, searching the same spot again.

Nothing.

The path stood empty.

She glanced toward the house behind her.

The laughter inside continued.

No one else seemed to have noticed.

Perhaps someone had stepped into the side garden.

She walked down the short flight of wooden steps and followed the stone path.

The air felt cooler beneath the trees.

The lights from the house barely reached this part of the garden.

She stopped where she thought she had seen the figure.

No one.

Only the branches overhead stirred softly in the wind.

Aizal looked around once more.

"Hello?"

Her voice faded into the quiet evening.

There was no answer.

She waited another few seconds before turning back toward the house.

As she reached the first garden light, something caught her eye.

Near the edge of the pathway...

The grass bent gently, as though someone had been standing there only moments before.

Aizal looked at it for a long moment.

Then, without saying anything to the guests inside, she walked back into the warmth of the house.The warmth inside the house wrapped around Aizal the moment she stepped through the glass door.

The sounds of laughter and conversation returned all at once.

"Where did you disappear to?" Mrs. Hashmi asked, placing a serving bowl on the dining table.

"In the garden."

Mrs. Hashmi smiled.

"I should've guessed."

"You've always preferred quiet corners."

Before Aizal could reply, their hostess appeared beside them.

"Dinner is ready."

Within minutes, everyone gathered around the table.

Conversations flowed easily from one topic to another.

Someone spoke about rising traffic.

Another guest shared stories from a recent family trip.

Children interrupted every few minutes with excited voices before being gently reminded to finish their meals.

Mr. Hashmi was soon laughing with two neighbours over a story Aizal had heard at least three times before.

She smiled into her glass.

Some stories, she thought, never grew old.

For a while, everything felt perfectly ordinary.

...

Nearly an hour later, the gathering began to wind down.

Guests thanked the hosts before slowly making their way toward the front door.

Outside, the night air had turned noticeably cooler.

As Mrs. Hashmi exchanged a few final words with their neighbours, Aizal stood quietly beside the car.

Almost without thinking, her eyes wandered across the street.

The pavement lay empty beneath the streetlights.

A stray cat slipped through a half-open gate before disappearing into the darkness.

Nothing else moved.

She looked away.

Perhaps she had imagined the figure after all.

"Aizal?"

Her father's voice pulled her back.

"We're leaving."

She opened the passenger door and settled into her seat.

The drive home passed peacefully.

Soft recitation played through the car speakers while the city lights drifted past the windows.

No one spoke very much.

Everyone seemed pleasantly tired after the evening.

...

Back home, Aizal changed into comfortable clothes and tied her hair into a loose braid.

The house gradually fell silent as each family member retired for the night.

She climbed the stairs with her phone in one hand.

As she entered her room, her eyes instinctively found the easel.

She stopped.

The painting stood exactly where she had left it.

She walked closer.

The iron gate.

The fountain.

The stone pathway.

Everything looked the same.

She reached for her phone, intending to check how the new painting was doing online.

The screen lit up.

Dozens of notifications filled the display.

Likes.

Comments.

New followers.

She ignored them all.

Instead, she opened the photograph she had taken of the folded sketch that afternoon.

For several quiet moments, she compared the photograph with the painting on the easel.

Her gaze moved back and forth.

Sketch.

Painting.

Sketch.

Painting.

Then...

She frowned.

Slowly, she stepped closer to the canvas.

Her fingertips tightened around the phone.

Just behind the iron gate...

Near the fountain...

A faint silhouette stood beneath the shadow of a tree.

So pale...

So distant...

It could easily be mistaken for another brushstroke.

Aizal stared at it without blinking.

She lowered the phone and looked directly at the canvas.

Then back at the photograph she had taken earlier.

The silhouette wasn't there.

Only the gate.

Only the fountain.

Nothing else.

The room remained perfectly still.

Aizal didn't move.

She simply stood before the painting...

Unable to remember ever painting someone behind the gate.