The next morning, the classroom felt heavier than usual.
The scratching of pencils was there, the chatter of students had not lessened, yet something restless clung to the air.
Harry sat at his desk, his hand moving stiffly across the paper. Each line seemed forced, trembling with hesitation. He even tried to smile at times, but the smile never reached his eyes.
It was Gulluna who noticed first.
She always noticed.
Her gaze flickered briefly toward Harry, then slowly shifted to the other corner of the room where Zain sat. As always, he was quiet, absorbed in his sketches, detached from everything else. There was no weight in his expression, no flicker of what had happened the evening before… as if he hadn't seen Harry being cornered at all.
Anger stirred inside Gulluna's chest once again.
What kind of person just walks away like that? As if people mean nothing to him?
Her fingers pressed hard against her closed sketchbook. She almost wanted to throw the question at him in front of everyone: Why didn't you help?
But then she saw the rest of the class moving as though nothing had changed, laughter breaking here and there, the rhythm of pencils scratching against paper. She was the only one carrying the storm.
The door opened, and Lylla walked in, a bundle of assignments in her arms.
"Good morning, team!" she greeted brightly. "Today we'll do something different. Show me the rough drafts from yesterday's assignment, and then we'll continue from there."
At once, every eye shifted to Zain.
He was always the quiet one, the outsider. Yet Lylla had placed such importance on him that curiosity burned in everyone's faces. What was so special about this boy that she trusted him with an artist's task?
Lylla's eyes softened as they found him.
"Zain," she said gently, "did you work on your story? Share it with the group. Everyone wants to see."
The classroom fell silent.
Chairs creaked forward, voices died down.
Zain moved slowly, pulling a page from his folder. His eyes carried that same empty look, but his grip on the paper was steady, almost unyielding.
"For the fairytale story," he said in a quiet voice, "I made a rough drawing."
He placed the sheet in the center of the table.
In an instant, every head leaned in.
The sketch wasn't finished, yet it wasn't incomplete either. It carried something unsettling — a strange stillness hidden between the lines. Parts of it looked innocent, even childlike, while other strokes seemed to sink into shadow, heavy and cold.
The students exchanged confused looks. Surprise flickered in their eyes, as if they couldn't decide what they were actually seeing.
And Lylla… her gaze stayed fixed on the drawing, her brows knitting slightly. She wanted to understand it, but the meaning slipped just out of reach.
The classroom no longer buzzed with laughter or noise.
There was only silence… and the sheet of paper where Zain had laid down his secret.