Chapter Text
Thirteen days later
Veer sat quietly at his desk, his fingers wrung around each other in his tightly clasped hands. His hold on himself was tight enough to leave white marks on his otherwise pink-yellow hued skin. The slightly outgrown nails left crescent marks on his skin from where he was pressing too hard; one nail pushed deep enough to draw out blood, but Veer paid it no mind.
When Mr. Prannoy walked into the class that day, there was an odd rush in his step. His presence was overcast by this seemingly dark shadow of dread right behind, and you did not have to be a poet to notice this difference.
Where the students of Hampton usually did not care of the teacher’s existence in their sphere, that day, the whole class fell silent. The gloom on their teacher’s face made them wonder if they had somehow messed up an exam, but the anxiety in his demeanour told them it had nothing to do with the students. For a second, Veer noticed, a few students tensed up, perhaps wondering if there was another murder in the school, if they had lost yet another one.
Mr. Das cleared his throat, now standing tall from his hunched position. He sighed, looking at each student slowly, looking for something, a clue.
Something pulled at Veer, telling him that it was him Mr. Das was looking for.
That thought left when Prannoy didn’t even spare him a glance in his assessment.
Gulping down the mystery of the room, Veer realised how dry his throat was, but made not effort to reach for his water bottle.
“Students,” Mr. Das spoke, finally, his hands resting on his books, which were piled up on the table, “I hope you’re all familiar with the Manzoors.”
Veer’s heart skipped a beat.
Suddenly, a dry throat was the least of his problems, whatever food he had consumed in the past twenty four hours making its way back up his throat. He gulped yet again, trying to force it down. The blood from the crescent marks on his palms trickled down his hands.
Saba hadn’t come to class today.
He took deep breaths, trying to make sure his face wasn't turning as pale and cold as it was feeling.
“Saba Manzoor couldn't come to class today,” Mr. Prannoy continued when the students barely gave any reaction except a slight eyebrow raise here and there. Veer dreaded whatever words were to follow that sentence. He feared nothing good could follow that glim statement.
“She and her family are rather busy right now, and they wanted me to ask you this, since it seems some of you might know something about the current situation,” he leaned forward on his books, elbows resting on the pile, eyes still searching for clues, “if any of you know about Saba’s brother, Faruq Manzoor’s whereabouts, we’d appreciate any pertaining information,” a few whispers flew around in the quiet classroom, a few gasps accompanying them, “it’s rather urgent. Any information is valuable information. Faruq Manzoor has been missing for two days now. The police… were rather unwilling to take on this case, so this is the family’s personal plea.”
The whole classroom now filled with snickers and snarky remarks, the chattering echoing from wall to wall like a ping pong ball.
Amidst the chaos, as Mr. Das tried to calm the class, Veer's hands stopped shaking, and his previously blank face contorted into a subtle, knowing smirk.