Morning.
Light spilled through the window like it always did — soft, warm, hopeful. But it no longer touched me.
I sat motionless at the edge of my bed, watching dust float in the air like suspended time. I should've felt something.
But I didn't.
I moved to the mirror, toothbrush in hand, staring not at myself… but at the space behind the eyes.
There, I placed the first mask:
A smile.
The kind that kept my parents safe from the truth. The kind that told them the world they'd trusted me with hadn't already begun to rot.
Then I stepped out the door.
On the street, among strangers, I wore the second:
The innocent face.
The one that asked no questions. The one that invited no suspicion.
And as I crossed the school gates, surrounded by laughter and motion and plastic friendship, I slid on the third:
The calm face.
Emotionless. Impenetrable. Smooth like porcelain.
That's how I lived now — a traveler between facades.
It had become second nature.
It had become me.
But something was wrong.
I could feel it — quietly — like a draft slipping through a locked door.
I had begun to see things.
No — notice things.
Tiny, invisible fractures in people. Cracks in smiles. Stutters in confidence.
The way someone's fingers twitched when they lied.
The way a laugh could sound like a cry in disguise.
And I watched.
God, I watched.
Everyone.
Every movement. Every twitch. Every silence between syllables.
At first, I thought I was just learning how to survive.
But slowly, I realized something darker:
I wasn't surviving.
I was recording.
And something inside me was… changing.
Subtly.
Insidiously.
Like water inside walls — silent, persistent, until everything begins to sag and rot.
But there were no alarms in me.
Just that quiet, anonymous feeling —
That I was slipping.
That something alive inside me was going still.
Then came the boy.
Late arrival. Not new. Just… absent until now.
When he walked into the room, something in the atmosphere shifted.
He was magnetic — not loud, not arrogant. But everyone seemed to orbit him without realizing it.
His smile was slow, deliberate.
His eyes never flinched.
He shook hands like he already knew your secrets.
Even the teacher — her, the one with the predator's grin — seemed to soften around him.
She laughed a little too quickly.
Called on him a little too often.
The others adored him.
Admired him.
Copied him.
But I didn't.
I watched him.
And then…
One day.
It was hot. P.E. The sun was burning the air. Most were out on the field, draped in sweat and noise.
I stayed back, alone, pretending to feel dizzy.
That's when I saw him slip away.
I followed.
Not because I wanted to.
But because some quiet instinct in me refused to look away.
He walked to the far end of the building — a forgotten wing cloaked in shadows and mold.
I followed in silence.
Every step echoed like a countdown.
Then I heard it.
Not words. Not shouts.
But… sounds.
Rhythmic. Wet.
Intimate in the worst way.
I slowed.
Turned the corner.
And froze.
I didn't see everything.
But I saw enough.
Him — back arched, head tilted.
Her — kneeling.
The teacher.
The same one who'd humiliated me.
The same one who laughed when I cried behind my mask.
There was no shame in her.
No fear.
Just… hunger.
Then she looked up.
Saw me.
And smiled.
Not startled.
Not guilty.
A smile as cold as a scalpel.
It wasn't a mistake.
It was a message.
"Yes. You saw.
And no, you'll never be able to tell."
I didn't run.
I didn't scream.
I simply backed away —
Step by step —
Like a dream unraveling backwards.
My chest felt hollow.
Not from fear.
But from recognition.
This was the real curriculum.
This was what the school truly taught.
Power.
Secrets.
Silence.
And now I had joined the class.
Back at my desk, I sat still.
He walked in later, glowing.
She walked in after him, untouched.
No one else noticed.
No one else ever does.
And in that moment, I realized —
I wasn't just a student anymore.
I was a mirror.
Reflecting everything.
Absorbing everything.
Letting it all rot quietly behind the glass.
So I wore a new face.
One not built to hide, or to please.
But to witness.
A face that sees all.
Speaks nothing.
Remembers everything.
The Fourth Face: The Observing Face.
And behind it, I whispered to myself:
"One day, they'll all look into your eyes…
and see everything they never wanted to see."