The envelope felt heavier than paper should.
Minah's manicured fingers trembled as she ripped it open, eyes darting left and right in the empty hallway. She expected some crude meme, maybe another hashtag joke. Instead—
Her breath caught.
A photo. A girl smiling, sunlight on her face.
Her.
The younger sister.
The one who had fallen.
The one whose name Minah had buried deep, under money, under excuses, under silence.
And beneath the picture, in sharp black ink:
"You remember her, don't you?"
The hallway spun. The walls seemed to breathe.
She staggered back, clutching the photo as though it burned her skin. For a moment, her mask cracked. Her lips trembled. Sweat prickled down her temple.
And then—memory dragged her under.
Flashback
It was late spring, months ago.
Her friends were laughing on the rooftop, tossing half-finished milk cartons, teasing a timid first-year who stood apart. The girl's hands clutched the railing, knuckles white, eyes brimming.
"Come on, don't cry. We're just playing," Minah had said, smirking as her friends jeered.
But the smirk wasn't confidence. It was habit. A role she played—the governor's daughter, untouchable, feared.
The girl whispered something then. Quiet, broken."I… I wish I could disappear."
The laughter died for a second. Then one of Minah's friends scoffed, "Go on, then. Nobody would miss you."
Minah remembered it clearly. She hadn't stopped them. She hadn't said a word. She had just stood there, arms crossed, letting her silence do the cruelty for her.
And then—
The scream.
The sudden, sharp silence.
The body below, twisted on the concrete.
Her friends scattered. Phones deleted messages. Parents called lawyers. By nightfall, the story was no longer theirs—it was rewritten as a "tragic accident" in the headlines.
And Minah?
She pretended not to dream of that scream every night.
Back to Present
The photo slipped from her hands, landing on the linoleum floor with a soft flutter.
"No… no, it can't be…" she whispered, nails digging into her palms.
Her heart pounded like it wanted to break free of her chest.
Someone knew. Someone remembered.
Someone was watching her.
And if they had this photo, if they knew what happened… what else did they have?
Her throat closed. She wanted to scream, but the school hallway felt too open, too exposed. Every shadow looked like eyes. Every sound felt like footsteps following her.
She crouched down, snatched the photo again, and shoved it deep into her bag.
Then her phone buzzed.
One notification.
Twitter.
A new anonymous post.
A candid shot of her—taken just this morning, standing by her locker.
Caption: "Even ghosts follow queens." #ClassroomCrown
Her knees buckled. She slid down the wall, clutching her phone, gasping for breath.
For the first time in years, Minah felt something she had never allowed herself to feel.
Fear.