If someone saw me right now, they would probably see a girl struggling with too many books in her arms.
They wouldn’t see what’s really crushing me.
These assignments will go back to the library in exactly 15 minutes, not that anyone’s counting, except maybe me.
My palms are sweaty, my back aches and there’s a sharp throb behind my left eye, but none of that compares to what’s really pressing on me: the fact that in a few hours, I’ll be doing the one thing I swore I never would.
If ANYONE found out, if my parents found out, it would be over for me. Not just school. Everything.
And yet, here I am, carrying books, pretending to be normal. Acting like I didn’t just hear our principal whispering to Mrs. Dey in the cabin.
“Don't let anyone get inside the east wing now! Not until it’s over. If something happens again…”
I wasn’t meant to hear that, I know. But I didn’t tell Harper. We’ve come too far to go back now.
I enter the staff room and dump the books on the nearest table, sending a quick smile towards my English teacher.
“Thanks Zahra.” She flashes a grin at me.
I nod quickly and slip out before my smile can crack.
I can already hear my mother’s voice in my head.
“Zahra would never do something like that.”
“Zahra always gets full marks.”
“Zahra will be the top ranker, I just know it!”
STOP. I shake my head to clear the thoughts. There’s no point in having second thoughts okay? Just. Stop.
I walk briskly toward the washroom, checking the time.
3:09 pm
4 more hours. Then, the school will be empty.
The corridors are still buzzing with the last few classes wrapping up. Laughter echoes faintly from the playground. The day is almost over, and so is the point of no return.
I duck into the washroom at the far end of the corridor, the one near the old store room no one uses anymore. The last stall. That's where Harper said we’d wait.
She’s already there, sitting stiffly on the toilet lid, knees pulled to her chest, fingers picking at the hem of her sleeve. Her eyes dart toward me as I enter.
“You took forever.” She whispers, voice barely above a breath.
“I was carrying thirty kilos of assignments, forgive me.” I mutter, sliding the latch shut behind me.
She lets out a sound, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Sorry, I just…….I don’t know, my stomach’s in knots.”
“I know.” I give her a sympathetic look. “Mine too.”
“You brought the keys?” She asks, fidgeting.
I pat my pocket. “Yeah, they’re here.”
She nods, biting her lip. Her foot bounces slightly against the rim of the seat.
We hadn’t eaten lunch. Couldn’t. The guilt sat too heavily in our stomachs, or maybe it ate through them. Either way, food felt wrong.
Harper presses her hands against her knees. She’s not the bold one today. Not really. Maybe she never was.
“The bell rang a while ago..” Harper murmurs, not looking at me. “They’ll start leaving soon, the teachers too.”
“Yeah.” I press my back against the wall. It’s cold, even through the shirt, or maybe I’m just cold from the inside out.
“Then we wait.” I nod. “Four hours.”
We don’t speak after that.
For the first half hour, we’re both too restless to sit still. Harper keeps fidgeting, her sleeves, her shoelace, the cracked edge of the toilet seat. I bite the inside of my cheek until it stings. Then I do it again.
At one point, I hear footsteps outside. Loud. Slow.
We both freeze. Our breathing shallow, eyes wide in horror, ears perked.
But it’s just one of the janitors humming to herself, dragging a mop along the tiles.
I glance at Harper. She’s hugging her knees tighter, eyes locked on the stall door like it might fly open any second.
Time crawls. The buzz of the school fades. The playground noise dims. Laughter dies down. Lockers slam shut. Voices drift off. Eventually, it’s just the occasional echo of footsteps. Then, even those are gone.
By the time 6 o’clock approaches, everything feels still. Still and hollow. Like my insides. I shift, my legs numb, but not as numb as my thoughts.
Harper hasn’t said anything in a while. She’s curled up beside me, biting at her sleeve, gaze fixed somewhere I can’t follow. She looks small, folded in on herself. Like if she stays still enough, her parents will finally remember she exists.
They never do, not really.
Everything she does is a shout into a room that never listens. Always the second daughter, the backup plan, the afterthought. So maybe stealing a paper is the loudest she’s ever going to be.
And me? I can’t afford to mess this exam up. Not this subject, not any. Not with the kind of pressure that hangs in my house like smoke. One wrong number on a mark sheet and I’m not their daughter anymore. Just a failure they don’t know what to do with.
We don’t say it out loud, but we both know what we mean.
Her, forgotten in a house that always notices her sister first.
Me, in a home where a single wrong mark earns bruises colder than this floor.
So maybe this is what desperation looks like. Two girls in a school washroom, waiting to do something they’ll regret for reasons no one else will understand.
The minutes drag.
By 6:30, I’ve counted the floor tiles 12 times, listened to Harper’s breathing like it’s a ticking bomb, and imagined 50 different ways this could all go wrong. My legs are dead and my spine might as well have been fused with the wall.
I don’t know.
And somewhere in the blur of time, that conversation replays in my head.
“Don’t let anyone get inside the east wing now! Not until it’s over. If something happens again…”
Again?
What happened…… before?
Something about the way our principal said it, it wasn’t just strict, it was scared. Like he knew something he couldn’t say out loud. Like he was covering up a storm and praying no one walked into it.
A shiver crawls down my neck.
I glance at Harper, who’s still hugging her knees like they’re all she has. I consider telling her. Just blurting it all out and watching her eyes go wide. Maybe she’d stop. Maybe we would.
But then I think about what we’re here for. About what happens if we fail.
So instead, I press the thought down like a crack in the wall behind a painting. We’ll get through this.
We have to.
Harper finally shifts. “Do you think they’ve left?” She whispers.
“Probably.” I whisper back. “Should be just the night guard now.”
As if on cue, the sound of a bolt sliding into place echoes faintly across the whole school.
The main gate, it’s locked.
A silence falls so thick I can feel it pressing against my eardrums.
It’s time.
We both move slowly, like our bones forgot how to function. My knees pop, Harper winces. I reach into my pocket and pull out the keys, the metal cool and biting against my palm. Harper pulls her hood up, I pull my sleeve down.
We unlatch the stall door like it might scream.
And then we’re out.
The hallway is dim now, lit only by the street lights pouring faintly through the windows. We don’t speak. We just walk. Past the silent classrooms. Past the dusty trophy case and the peeling notice board. Past the sign that screams INTEGRITY ABOVE ALL in bold capital letters.
Oh the irony.
The door to the East Wing stands at the end of the corridor like a dare. I slow down, my heart beat isn't even a beat anymore, it’s thunder in my throat.
I unlock it. We swiftly walk to the library. And then I unlock that too.
The door creaks, long and slow, like it’s warning us.
And then, a breeze brushes past my face. I freeze.
It’s not the kind of breeze that flutters your hair. It’s sharp. Cold. Wrong.
None of the windows are open, I’m sure of it. The library is always sealed shut after hours, and the fans aren’t running either.
I swallow hard and share an uneasy look with Harper. She looks petrified, so I give her a nonchalant shrug and brush it off.
It must have been the opening of the door.
Something about this feels…..off.
And yet, I follow Harper in.
The library door shuts behind us with a soft click. Too soft. The air is still, but cold.
We move quietly, Harper heads to the desk while I drift towards the shelves, every step loud in my ears.
Then I notice it. The clock on the wall says 3:09.
I blink, check my watch, 6:42.
I look back up. Still 3:09. My stomach tightens.
Then there’s a sound, a thump.
I freeze, Harper doesn't react. Another thump. Closer this time.
“Did you-“
“Shh,” she cuts in, whisper-shouting. “Did that chair just move?”
I follow her gaze. A chair near the center table was now pulled out. I swear it wasn't like that before. And then, there was the sound of a page turning. But neither of us moved.
“Zahra…..” Harper’s voice is barely a whisper now.
“Just find it. Fast.”
We start tearing through drawers, pages, cabinets. Finally, she gasps and holds up a folder.
“This is it,” she says, wide eyed. “I think it’s—“
A light above us flickers. Once. Twice.
The folder shudders in her grip. And then, something scrapes against the far wall.
We don’t check what it is.
We run.
We don’t stop until we’re back in the washroom. Gasping for air like we just finished a marathon.
I slam the door shut and Harper turns to lock it. Hands shaking, she stumbles to the sink and hunches over, gagging.
I lean against the wall, trying to catch my breath. Blood was pumping so quickly through my arteries, it felt like my heart could tear through my chest.
A bloodcurdling sensation passed through me.
The sound of the flush. From the last stall.
The one we were hiding in.
Harper freezes mid breath, then lurches forward and throws up.
My feet move on their own accord as I find myself in front of the last stall door. As soon as I reach to push it open, the door unlatches on its own and slowly creaks open.
Empty.
Except for some numbers scribbled hastily on the inside wall in red ink. Or is that blood?
A chill prickles down my spine as I turn around to look at Harper, who’s gone still. Eyes fixated on the mirror in front of her. I follow her gaze and it’s as if my heart stopped beating.
The same 10 digits are smeared across the glass, glistening, like they were written in a rush.
All of a sudden, there’s a complete blackout, and darkness envelops us in its cold embrace.
A second later, my pocket buzzes. I fumble for my cell phone and the screen lights up the stall like a cold lantern.
Unknown Number Calling.
The numbers matched. Perfectly.
I turned the screen to show it to Harper, and she shrieks so loud the phone falls out of my hand. Its back pops off and the battery skids across the tiles.
Dead. It should be dead.
But the ringtone continues. Loud. Relentless. Echoing through the halls like it’s screaming at us to be picked up.
We both scoot back against the wall, eyes wide, hearts pounding. The screen flashes again. No battery. No logic. No escape.
I know I shouldn’t. I know every instinct in my body should scream DON’T.
But my hands move before I can stop them, fingers wrapping around the cracked phone. I pick it up and put it on speaker.
Silence. And then a voice cackles. Breathy. Crooked. Like it’s speaking through broken wires.
“Your principal locked the East Wing for a reason, Zahra.”
And then the laughter starts. Not loud. But close. Like it’s behind my ear, inside my head.
My knees buckle.
Harper screams my name, but it’s distant, distorted, like it’s being pulled through static. Her voice fragments in my ears.
And then, the darkness slams into me like a wave. Everything tilts, and before I could react, it is pitch black. Unconsciousness fills me.
————————————————————————
Morning light fills across my face, warm and entirely too ordinary. I blink. Slowly. The ceiling above me is painfully familiar.
My room. My blanket. The faint hum of the fan overhead. I’m…… home.
A huge wave of relief washes over me, and I just lie there, staring, letting the weight in my chest lift, inch by inch.
It was a dream. God, it was just a dream.
I sit up and reach for my glasses on the nightstand, slide them on, and let out a shaky breath. Everything’s fine.
I roll over my bed and walk to my desk, still half dazed to push the pile of books aside…..
And stop cold.
Sitting neatly in the centre, is my phone. Shattered. Battery still out.
What was placed next to it nearly made me cry out in sheer horror.
The stolen exam paper. But there was something written on it. There were red strokes.
I adjusted my spects.
“I know what you did.”
My heart sank to my feet. There was no mistaking it.
No waking up from it this time.
Not a dream.
Not even close.
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