XXVIII
The same routine persisted for two steady weeks—until an unexpected shift crept in, subtly altering the rhythm of Sasha’s carefully maintained life. Each morning, she entered the school to the familiar scent of chalk dust mingling with worn pages, the air thick with the hum of daily repetition. The soft shuffle of students' footsteps echoed alongside bursts of laughter and hushed conversations, filling the hallways with a kind of predictable noise she had come to rely on. In the staff room, nothing seemed out of place. The creak of old chairs, the faint aroma of bitter coffee lingering in the corners—all of it comfortingly unchanged. And as always, there was Samuel, seated at his usual spot by the window, the soft morning light casting a glow over his neatly combed hair and warm brown ey
- Writer
