The school corridor buzzed with noise today. Students shuffled about with papers in hand — some studying aloud, others scribbling answers in a rush. It was test day.
Zuhra walked calmly, slowly.
John and Usman, the soldiers her father had assigned to guard her, followed closely behind like shadows made of silence. Each of them had sharp eyes, scanning everything. Many students turned to stare at them in curiosity and disbelief.
Student 1 (whispering):
"Wait — she still comes to school? I thought her dad banned her completely."
Student 2 (laughing):
"Guess music's more important than school, huh? Everyone's submitting their lab work today, and she's walking around like she doesn't even know it's due."
Student 3:
"Even when she shows up, it's with soldiers. She's always acting like she's special."
Zuhra heard their words. Though no one spoke directly to her, the sting of their whispers pierced her soul. She closed her eyes briefly and sighed but said nothing. She simply kept walking with the same quiet dignity, as though untouched.
From a distance, Kamal stood by a tree near the corridor, watching her — eyes fixed, breath shallow, heart pounding.
Kamal (thinking):
"She came today… but something's off. She looks drained. Is it the rumors, or is her heart just tired?"
Munir approached from behind, still going over their test materials. He caught Kamal standing there, eyes glued to Zuhra as if he were watching a living painting.
Munir:
"You gonna come in and sit? Or just stand here staring at her until the test starts?"
Kamal (with a heavy smile):
"Let me be. Watching her — it's a lesson of its own."
Munir shook his head and walked into the test hall. Kamal eventually followed, but his eyes kept drifting toward the corridor — his heart tangled with questions and longing.
Meanwhile, Zuhra stood at the lab door, scanning the list of students who had submitted their assignments. Her name wasn't there — she hadn't even known today was the deadline. She froze where she stood, like a statue, her mind spiraling.
Zuhra (thinking):
"Where have I been these past few days? How did I miss this? Did music really make me forget everything else?"
John and Usman stood watchfully behind her, eyes narrowing at anyone who came too close. A new classmate who didn't know the situation tried to approach her, maybe to ask a question. John stepped forward and gently pulled him aside.
John (quietly):
"Give her space. Not now."
The student stepped back, silently.
That kind of protection only deepened the distance between her and everyone else — both emotionally and physically.
Zuhra turned away, slowly exiting the corridor. Her walk was calm, almost disconnected from the world around her. Each step she took echoed like a quiet song — one only she could hear...