WHISPERS BENEATH THE CANVAS

CHAPTER 4

Aizal stepped inside.

The principal looked up from the papers spread across his desk and offered a polite smile.

"Good morning, Ms. Hashmi."

"Good morning, Sir."

"What brings you here so early?"

"I wanted to discuss the examination schedule for the art department. There are a few changes that may affect the practical assessments."

"Please, have a seat," the principal said, gesturing toward the chair opposite him.

"Thank you."

Aizal took her seat and placed the file neatly on the desk.

For the next several minutes, their conversation remained entirely professional. They discussed classroom allocations, examination dates, invigilator duties, and the materials required for the practical exams.

The principal skimmed through the file before setting it aside.

"We'll sort these out later."

"I'd appreciate it if they could be finalised today," Aizal said. "The students need enough time to prepare."

He smiled.

"You're very dedicated."

"I simply want the students to have a fair examination."

"I've heard they're quite fond of your classes."

"I do my best."

He leaned back in his chair.

"So... apart from work, how are you finding the school?"

"It's been a good experience."

"I'm glad."

A brief silence settled between them.

Then his tone shifted.

"You know..."

He rose from his chair.

"...teachers like you are difficult to find."

Aizal watched as he slowly walked around the desk. She remained where she was.

"I appreciate the compliment, Sir."

He stopped beside her chair.

"I wasn't talking about your teaching."

Aizal slowly lifted her eyes to meet his.

The office suddenly felt smaller.

He reached out, as though about to place a hand on her shoulder.

Before he could, Aizal stood.

She took one step back, calmly creating a respectful distance between them.

Her voice remained steady.

"Please maintain professional boundaries."

For a brief second, surprise flashed across the principal's face.

Then he let out an awkward laugh.

"Oh... you've misunderstood."

"I don't believe I have."

The smile gradually disappeared from his face.

"I didn't mean anything."

Aizal held his gaze.

"I came here to discuss examination matters. Nothing else."

Silence filled the office.

He cleared his throat.

"I think we're done here."

"So do I."

Aizal picked up the examination file without rushing.

Just as she reached the door, she paused.

"There is one more thing."

The principal looked at her but said nothing.

"Every teacher deserves to feel safe and respected in their workplace."

Her words were calm, yet carried quiet authority.

"If this behaviour is ever repeated, I won't hesitate to take legal action. Anyone who feels uncomfortable because of inappropriate conduct has every right to report it through the proper channels."

His expression changed.

Aizal continued,

"I hope this school always remains a place where both students and teachers are treated with dignity."

Without waiting for a response, she opened the door and walked out.

As it closed behind her, she released a slow breath.

She had stayed composed.

She had said exactly what needed to be said.

Walking back through the corridor, she found Amna waiting outside her classroom.

The concern on her face was impossible to miss.

"What happened?"

Aizal gave her a reassuring smile.

"I spoke to him."

"And?"

"I also made it clear that every teacher has the right to work in a safe environment."

Amna searched her face.

"Were you alright?"

"Yes."

Aizal gently squeezed her hand.

"But this doesn't end with a conversation."

Amna frowned slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"We're going to document everything properly. If anyone else has experienced similar behaviour, they deserve to be heard too."

She paused for a moment.

"No one should have to carry this alone."

For the first time since the previous afternoon, hope quietly began replacing the fear in Amna's eyes.

The first period bell echoed through the corridor.Students began hurrying toward the art classroom, carrying sketchbooks, paint palettes, and coloured pencils.

A little boy entered first with a wide grin.

"Good morning, Miss Aizal!"

Aizal smiled warmly.

"Good morning."

Soon, the classroom filled with cheerful voices.

The children had no idea how heavy the morning had been for their teachers.

Perhaps that innocence was exactly what Aizal and Amna needed.

As the last student hurried inside, the room gradually settled into its familiar rhythm. The cheerful chatter faded into quiet anticipation as every pair of eyes turned toward the two teachers.

Aizal glanced at Amna.

She had managed to compose herself, but the sadness in her eyes still lingered.

Aizal faced the class with a gentle smile.

"Good morning, everyone."

"Good morning, Miss Aizal! Good morning, Miss Amna!" the children replied together.

"I hope all of you are ready for today's activity."

A chorus of excited voices answered.

"Yes, Miss!"

Aizal walked to the whiteboard and wrote a single word in neat handwriting.

“Feelings”

She stepped aside.

"Today, I don't want you to paint mountains, flowers, or houses."

The children exchanged curious glances.

"I want each of you to paint a feeling."

A little girl raised her hand.

"Miss... how do we paint a feeling?"

Aizal smiled.

"Imagine you're very happy. What colours would you choose?"

"Yellow!"

Another child answered,

"Blue if I'm calm."

"What about when you're sad?" Aizal asked.

A little boy lowered his eyes to his desk.

"Grey..."

"There isn't a wrong answer," Aizal said gently. "Art doesn't always show what our eyes can see. Sometimes, it shows what our hearts feel."

The children eagerly opened their paint boxes.

Within minutes, the classroom came alive.

Brushes dipped into water.

Paint spread across palettes.

Soft laughter echoed around the room as the children proudly compared their paintings.

Suddenly—

Splash!

A little boy had accidentally knocked over his cup of water.

His eyes widened.

"Oh no..."

A few students giggled.

Aizal walked over and handed him a tissue.

"It's alright," she said with an encouraging smile. "Every artist makes little mistakes."

The boy's worried expression melted into a shy smile.

From across the room, Amna quietly watched the children.

For the first time that morning, a genuine smile found its way to her face.

Aizal noticed.

She simply smiled back before helping another student mix colours.

A few minutes later, a tiny girl with two neatly tied braids approached Amna, carefully holding a painting with both hands.

"Miss..."

Amna knelt until they were at eye level.

"Yes?"

"I made this for you."

The paper showed two smiling teachers standing beneath a bright rainbow while children played around them.

Above the drawing, written in uneven handwriting, were the words:

Our teachers always make us smile.

Amna's vision blurred.

She accepted the painting with trembling hands.

"Thank you."

Without saying a word, the little girl wrapped her arms around her before happily skipping back to her seat.

Across the classroom, Aizal watched quietly.

A silent prayer of gratitude rose in her heart.

Children often healed wounds they never even knew existed.The remainder of the lesson passed peacefully.

When the bell rang, the children lined up neatly before leaving the classroom.

"Goodbye, Miss!"

"See you tomorrow!"

"Don't forget to finish your paintings," Aizal reminded them with a smile.

"We won't!"

Their cheerful voices gradually faded down the corridor.

The classroom grew quiet once again.

Amna looked down at the painting the little girl had given her.

"I think..." she whispered, "...I needed this."

Aizal gently rested a hand over hers.

"You're stronger than you think."

Amna smiled through her tears.

"And I'm grateful I don't have to face difficult days alone."

A few minutes later, another teacher entered the classroom to relieve them for the next period.

"You two can take your break," she said kindly.

"Thank you," Aizal replied.

As they stepped into the corridor, Amna stopped.

"I'll go to the staff room."

Aizal nodded.

"I'll be there in a few minutes."

"I'm feeling a little tired. I think I should wash my face first."

After Amna walked away, Aizal headed toward the washroom.

She turned on the tap and cupped cool water in her hands before gently splashing it across her face.

Reaching for a clean tissue, she slowly lifted her eyes to the mirror.

Her reflection stared back at her.

Without the light layer of foundation she usually wore at school, the faint mark on one side of her face was clearly visible.

Almost without thinking, her fingertips rose to touch it.

They lingered there.

The washroom was silent.

For a long moment, she simply looked at her reflection.

Then, almost too softly to hear, she whispered,

"Why did this mark have to be here...?"

No answer came.

Only her own reflection looked back at her.

She lowered her hand, but her eyes remained fixed on the mirror.

As though the mark reminded her of something she wished she could forget.