Classroom XI-B
A few students paid attention to the teacher's lessons and wrote down whatever they found noteworthy, while others were simply waiting for the class to end. Paul seemed to be in the latter category.
He, too, wasn't paying attention to the teacher's lesson, at least from an outsider's perspective.
He wasn't looking out the window as he usually did. His left hand supported his face, and his other hand held a pen, which he kept spinning. His eyes were focused intently on a blank notebook.
He stared at it, deeply in thought. After a few seconds, he released his left hand and pressed the side of the notebook.
He sat up straight, the black ballpoint pen in his right hand about to touch the surface of the plain, smooth notebook, which was filled with only black lines, prompting him to write something in the middle. The pen made contact, leaving a small black dot. And then—
"That's all for today. I will send questions and some important notes on the group chat. Read and revise them. If you don't understand, ask in tomorrow's class. Also, ask if you have any doubts from today's class; don't keep them to yourselves."
"Okay, Sir," the students replied half-heartedly.
The teacher paused, his eyes scanning the classroom. He nodded slightly, closed the book on the table, grabbed it, and left for his next class.
As soon as the teacher stepped out, some students exhaled as if they had just endured a difficult trial. Others prepared for the next class, putting away the previous subject's book and taking out a different one.
In a matter of seconds, the classroom filled with light chatter. Some talked about the class that had just ended, asking if they had written anything in their textbooks.
"Sup, bro," a boy said, casually opening his friend's or classmate's textbook, which was lying on the desk.
The classmate turned around when he heard his name. He was taking out the book for the next class while talking to someone and didn't notice he was being called.
Even if he had heard the voice, he didn't know if it was directed at him, so he continued talking.
Then the person he was talking to gestured, raising his eyebrows slightly, indicating that he should look behind him. He turned around quickly and saw one of his classmates looking at something in his textbook.
He snatched his textbook and said, "What the hell are you doing? At least ask before grabbing my textbook."
The boy replied, slightly annoyed but not showing it, "I did, but you were busy chatting with your boyfriend," looking at the guy behind him.
He glanced back briefly and said, "What?"
"You don't need to act so confused; I already know. In fact, the whole class knows there's something going on between you two," he said with a slight smirk. "Now give me the textbook; I'll give it back in a minute."
"Wait, wait, wait..." He lowered his voice and leaned toward the guy in front of him. "Is it really true? You're not lying, are you?"
"Is there anything for me, if i lie?" the boy replied.
The guy sitting on the chair said, "Well..." and went into deep thought.
"Then I'll take it. Thank you," he said calmly, took the textbook from his hand, and walked to his seat.
As the owner of the textbook said, "Just don't take it home, okay?"
He replied, "Yeah, yeah. I won't."
"Teacher Nathaniel is absent today due to personal reasons, and the other teachers are busy with their own classes, so this class will be unsupervised."
The whole class fell silent for a second when they heard the teacher's first sentence.
They stopped what they were doing. Students who weren't in their seats rushed back. Some felt happy and relaxed because they didn't have to listen to the teacher's nagging for another half-hour.
But others cursed, saying that some lazy teachers always slacked off, even though the school paid their salaries.
The teacher standing in front of the exit continued, "Focus on your subjects even if Sir isn't here. I shouldn't need to remind you that you're not middle schoolers anymore. Also, if you talk, keep it down so you don't disturb the other classes."
The teacher then walked off to his next class.
He had only one job: to teach the students, but he couldn't force someone against their will.
The class was silent for only a few seconds, but soon faint murmurs started to fill the classroom again.
Paul had been observing this play from the start, ever since the teacher announced the end of class.
It wasn't much different, even with the teacher absent.
The entire classroom had a lifeless air. Maybe he was the only one who could feel it, perhaps he was different from the others here, or even from the whole school. 'Is this what it means to be a chosen one?' he thought.
'Bunch of nonsense.' He dismissed the useless thought. He knew he wasn't much different from them. Maybe they were all the same. Just one...
His gaze landed on Mia, sitting in the right corner seat.
She was surrounded by three other girls who were blocking her from his view; he could barely see if she was really there.
Only when one girl moved slightly while talking could he catch a glimpse of her chatting with their classmates—'maybe friends.'
He couldn't clearly hear what they were talking about. Mia also glanced at him subtly from the corner of her eyes, but Paul didn't notice.
Although he was looking at her, his mind was somewhere else entirely.
But seconds later, one girl in the middle sensed something and turned her head slightly, trying to look behind herself, but couldn't. She turned further and caught sight of a guy looking at her.
She stared back at him.
Seeing his expressionless face, she felt a little irritated. In this situation, anyone would feel that way, not just her.
She tried to look at his eyes, but Paul was just silent, looking at her but also not.
She thought, 'What a creep,' and murmured under her breath, "What the fuck are you staring at, you fucker!"
The girl beside her heard that faintly and tapped the other girl on the shoulder, asking what happened.
"Nah, it's just... nothing," she replied to her friend, turning towards her friends and reimmersing herself in the conversation.
Her friend glanced slightly at the left corner where her friend had just been looking. She stared for a second, then turned her face back towards the conversation.
But by then, Paul's gaze had already shifted to the front, outside the Musha Bhai Home Restaurant.
Julian had just arrived and checked the time on his phone.
It was almost ten AM.
He nodded internally and called Simon just to be sure that this was the right place, which Simon had mentioned earlier on the call. Simon quickly answered and confirmed it was the right place.
Julian put the phone in his pocket and looked at what he was wearing: black shoes, dark black jeans with light white tones, a sky-blue shirt underneath a black leather jacket that looked newly polished.
Looking ahead, the restaurant was completely enclosed.
A few steps away was a brown and light-brown wooden door that looked really big but matched the size of the restaurant. It was about the perfect size, with the name of the restaurant hanging above it.
The name "MUSHA BHAI HOME" was written in red, along with a design of a plate filled with different types of dishes he couldn't recognize.
The walls covering the restaurant were all white, though there were obvious marks of spitting.
The windows were of average size, also matching the size of the place, but they were all covered with curtains from the inside. No one from outside could tell what was happening inside.
Julian slowly took a step and walked towards the entrance door of the restaurant. Grabbing the steel handle attached to the wooden door, he slightly pushed it inward.
It slowly opened without any sound. The sound that reached Julian's ears was the voices of the people inside.
As the door opened more and more, the sound became louder and louder.