The old building of St. Jude's College feels a bit dark even during the day. Even with the sun outside the windows, the light seems to grow lifeless as it enters. Stone walls, tall windows, and the sound of slowly rotating fans—altogether, the classroom always feels a bit heavy.
An afternoon lecture is underway.
Standing in front of the board, the teacher is slowly writing equations. The harsh sound of chalk scraping against the board spreads through the classroom like an echo. Most students are writing in their notebooks; some are staring silently.
Ayan Rahman was sitting on the last bench.
An old notebook lay open before him. This notebook wasn't like the others—the pages were strangely yellowish, and a faint, cold scent clung to the paper. It felt as if no one had touched it for many years.
Ayan was aimlessly scribbling on the corner of a page with his pen.
Suddenly, his hand stopped.
A sentence was written in the middle of the page.
He stared at it for a few seconds.
"Someone will vanish today."
Ayan's brow furrowed.
He was certain—he hadn't written this sentence.
He placed his finger on the page. The ink smeared slightly.
The ink was still wet.
An odd chill settled deep inside his chest.
"Ayan Rahman."
Suddenly, the teacher's voice rang out.
He looked up, startled.
The teacher was staring at him.
"Stand up."
A light murmur rose within the class.
Ayan slowly stood up.
"What was I saying?" the teacher questioned.
Ayan remained silent for a few seconds. Nothing was coming to his mind.
The teacher let out an annoyed sigh.
"What are you writing in your notebook again?"
A few students in the class chuckled softly.
Ayan looked down.
"Sir… I wasn't writing."
"Then?" the teacher said. "Why are you staring at the notebook like 그?"
Ayan said nothing.
He didn't know why, either.
After a moment of silence, the teacher waved his hand and said,
"Sit down. And pay attention."
But his mind was no longer on the lecture.
His eyes kept returning to the notebook.
The sentence was still there.
"Someone will vanish today."
Raiyan, sitting on the bench next to him, nudged him with his elbow.
"Hey, what are you looking at?"
Ayan hesitated for a moment.
"Did you write this?" He turned the notebook slightly to show him.
Raiyan glanced at it and frowned.
"What?"
"This line."
Raiyan looked again.
A few seconds passed.
Then he shrugged.
"Have you started writing poetry again or something?"
Ayan froze.
"What do you mean?"
"Why do you sit there writing these weird lines?"
Ayan's heart gave a dull thud.
"Can you… can you see this?"
Raiyan was getting annoyed now.
"Yes, I see it. Looks like it's in your handwriting."
Ayan slowly shook his head and pulled the notebook back toward himself.
But he felt as if the sentence was changing slightly.
The letters seemed to be moving very slowly.
As if someone invisible was rewriting over the same line.
He rubbed his eyes and looked again.
Everything was normal.
Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him.
The class continued as before.
But a few minutes later, Ayan suddenly noticed something strange.
The classroom was unnaturally quiet.
The teacher was still writing on the board.
But the bench on the right side of the front row was empty.
Who used to sit there?
A name floated into his mind.
Arif.
Ayan felt a slight jolt in his chest.
He was sure—the boy was there when class started.
He stared at it for a few seconds.
Until the class ended, no one looked at the empty seat even once.
Even the teacher saw the empty seat but said nothing.
It was as if that student's existence had been quietly erased from the entire class.
As if that seat had always been empty.
Ayan's throat went dry.
He opened the notebook again.
The sentence had changed.
Now, it simply read—
"The first one is complete."
Ayan's hands began to tremble slowly.
One question kept spinning in his head.
If someone truly has vanished…
Then why is he the only one who can remember?
And why—
Did this notebook know it beforehand?