The Forgotten Script

The lunch bell had long faded, leaving behind a fragile quiet. The classroom smelled faintly of chalk and winter rain seeping through the old windows. Jenny sat at her desk, her shoulders bowed beneath invisible weight. The morning’s performance had drained her. Around her, the remnants of the lesson remained — scripts half-folded, notebooks left open, a scattering of pens and papers. She pressed her palms against her eyes until she saw stars, wishing briefly for darkness.

A knock at the door startled her. Serena stood there, hesitant but determined, her school uniform neat despite the day’s wear. She asked for her script, voice steady but eyes alert, as though watching for something unseen. Jenny directed her to the desk, her tone gentle, automatic. Yet the student did not move immediately; she lingered, her concern carefully phrased, her words warm but oddly rehearsed. When Jenny reassured her — again — Serena nodded, but her expression shifted, the faintest flicker of something unreadable passing across her features.

When she left, the door clicked shut softly, leaving behind a silence that seemed to hum. Jenny sat motionless, aware of her own heartbeat. The air in the room felt denser, colder. After a moment, her eyes fell to the front desk. The script — the one Serena had claimed to have forgotten — lay there still, untouched.

For a long moment, she stared at it. The detail was small, almost meaningless. Yet it rooted itself in her mind with quiet insistence. Perhaps Serena had been distracted. Perhaps she had only forgotten. But the simplicity of the explanation did not soothe her.

In the stillness, her thoughts began to darken, weaving themselves into patterns of doubt. The student’s gaze, her poise, the precision of her timing — all of it began to feel rehearsed. The notion was absurd, but it persisted. Jenny closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, trying to expel the fear that clung like static. But when she opened them again, the script remained where it was, an accusation of ink and paper against the fragile scaffolding of her reason.