The remaining hours of the day slipped away inside the classroom.
Sketches spread across tables, pencils scratched against paper, and bursts of laughter broke out whenever someone tossed in a clever remark. The air was alive with noise and creation, like a canvas being filled in real time.
Gulluna's voice, however, carried differently. She spoke of colors as if they were living things — how red could swell into love or burn into danger, how blue might reveal depth or drown in sorrow. Each word she offered made the group pause, listening as though she had brushed their minds with paint.
Everyone gave a piece of themselves to the discussion.
But for Zain, it was nothing more than routine. The walls stayed the same. The paper stayed the same. The voices — no matter how bright — blurred into a dull echo. For him, time felt trapped, circling in place.
And yet, whenever Gulluna's laughter or sharp tone cut through the noise, something unsettled inside him. His chest tightened, his gaze faltered. He didn't know why her presence struck him like a thorn — sharp, irritating, impossible to ignore. All he knew was that he couldn't hold her in his sight for long.
When class finally ended, Lylla clapped her hands together.
"Well done, everyone. This is just the beginning."
Chairs scraped, papers shuffled, and voices softened as the students trickled out.
Zain said nothing. He simply slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the doors, his steps steady, detached.
Outside, the evening stretched cool and gray, the wind brushing past as if in silence.
He walked without pause — until a sharp sound pulled his gaze sideways.
At the corner of the courtyard, three boys had cornered Harry, the quietest member of their group. Their laughter was edged with cruelty. Shoves turned to blows. Harry stumbled, trying to shield himself, his voice cracking with a half-swallowed protest.
Zain stood still. Watching.
No change in his face, no move in his body. For a heartbeat, it was as if the world itself waited for him to intervene.
But he didn't.
Without a word, he turned away. His figure slipped back into the path ahead, leaving behind nothing but the echo of his retreating footsteps.
Behind him, however, someone else had seen.
Gulluna.
Her eyes flared with disbelief, then anger. *Our classmate is being beaten in front of him, and he just walks away?*
She clenched her teeth, the fury rising hot in her chest. "Unbelievable," she hissed under her breath.
She dashed to the gallery guard. "Quick—over there!"
The two hurried toward Harry. The bullies froze, startled, before one of them let out a bitter laugh.
"We'll meet again," he sneered, before they scattered into the dusk.
The silence afterward felt heavier.
Gulluna rushed to Harry's side, kneeling slightly as she steadied him.
"Harry, are you alright? Who were they? Why were they after you?"
Harry forced a laugh, brushing dust from his shirt. "Nothing. We were just… messing around."
Her eyes narrowed. "That didn't look like a joke. It looked like they meant it."
He avoided her gaze, muttering softly, "It's fine. Don't worry about it."
But Gulluna's heart wouldn't settle. Something about the moment felt wrong, unfinished.
Meanwhile, far down the quiet street, Zain kept walking.
His figure melted into the dimming evening, each step calm, silent, untouchable. As though the pain and voices behind him belonged to another world — one he had never been a part of.
And yet, somewhere deep inside him, the image of Harry surrounded by fists refused to fade.
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