I reach the first floor, about to head to the toilet, when faint voices drift down the corridor. At first, I think it's just casual chatter, but as I listen, I realize it's sharper, heavier — more like an argument than a conversation. My stomach twists with urgency, so I force myself to ignore it and hurry on.
When I step out of the toilet moments later, I catch sight of that same mysterious figure I'd noticed earlier. His hair is wild, his forehead damp with sweat, and there's a frantic edge to the way he moves — as if he's just seen something he shouldn't have. Instinct kicks in. I follow.
He brushes too close to the wall, jerking back with a sharp hiss. His hand flies to his side, fingers clutching one hand tightly. In the dim light, I notice the faint glint of a rusty nail jutting out from the wall where a picture frame should have been, though the surface is bare. His palm trembles, smeared faintly with red, but he doesn't stop — only stumbles forward, pace even more frantic than before.
I hesitate, about to call out, but the words stick in my throat. By the time I round the corner, he's gone. No footsteps. No sound. Just an unsettling silence.
Uneasy, I decide to check where he came from. Maybe it ties to the argument I'd heard. At the far end of the corridor, I find a classroom with the door slightly ajar.
Inside, the air feels strangely heavier, as if it hasn't been disturbed for hours. The room is dim, lit only by the fading sunlight slipping through dusty windows. Desks are scattered in quiet disarray, some pushed too far from their neat rows, chairs tipped at odd angles. On the chalkboard, faint smudges remain where something had been hastily erased — though no lesson had been held here today.
I take a few careful steps in. The silence presses in on me, broken only by the faint creak of the floor beneath my shoes. Something dark marks the edge of one desk. At first, I think it's ink — a careless spill — but when I lean closer, it looks more like a thin smear, dried and rust-colored. My stomach knots.
A faint draft stirs the curtains, carrying the sharp tang of something metallic. I tell myself it's nothing. Just old pipes, maybe rust. Just dirt. Just… anything but what my mind wants to suggest.
I glance around once more, noticing a lone chair turned toward the corner instead of the front, as though someone had been sitting in silence, away from the rest. The sight makes me shiver. I back away quickly, convincing myself it must have been nothing — maybe just a heated conversation between classmates, one of them storming out before I arrived.
Shaking it off, I head downstairs.
On the staircase, faint marks catch my eye. At first, I dismiss them as dirt smudged by hurried shoes, but the pattern feels wrong — uneven, dragged, almost like something had been dripping and the impact was making certain patterns. They trail toward the exit before vanishing abruptly, as though someone had taken great care to hide the rest.
I pause, staring a little too long, then force myself to keep walking. My chest feels tight, but I shove the unease aside. Probably nothing. Probably just my imagination.
"Albert! Albert, over here!" a voice calls, breaking my thoughts. "We're waiting for you. Come, let's take the group photo! We'll probably have to do it without Grace — she wasn't feeling well and left early. Come on, we're already down one member."
Relieved for the distraction, I hurry over. They've all been waiting, and I don't want to keep them any longer. After all, we've shared so much together.
We gather in front of the camera, smiles forced but genuine in their own way, capturing the end of an era. I think of Grace again — how I'd only glimpsed her at the start of the ceremony and then during the diploma handout, since she was first on the list. It's a shame she left so early. Today was supposed to be our last day together, and already we're missing someone.
Afterward, I want to mention the strange things I noticed upstairs — the voices, the figure, the scattered classroom — but Marcus is glued to his phone, and Layla is already heading out, her father waiting by the gate. So I swallow it down and keep quiet.
Instead, I stroll through the halls one last time, letting the memories wash over me. These walls have witnessed our laughter, our mistakes, our triumphs. With every step, the weight of goodbye presses heavier on my chest.
The sun dips low, painting the corridor in fading gold. My eyes sting, and I blink hard, telling myself it's just the light. With one final glance back, I step out into the evening air, carrying the mixture of regret, happiness, fear, and excitement from all the years behind me.
The school announced a two-month summer break.
It should have meant nothing to us anymore — we weren't part of it now.
Or at least, that's what I thought…