I peep into the classroom. The class has already started. The session is of “Culinary math”. A female teacher, wearing crisp button-down shirt in ivory, dark trousers and hair tied back neatly a low bun, walks with a ruler in her hand, looking like someone who expects silence before she even speaks. I silently enter the classroom, and pace to my seat at the back.

  The white board contain neatly written formula.

  New servings ÷ Original servings = Scaling factor.

  She is telling how to factor servings as per the guests.

  My gaze falls on the empty seats beside me, there are only two now. The curly-haired boy sits at the rightmost corner seat. I do not remember seeing him before except for one time but now he occupies this seat often.

  I am though not good at remembering faces but I know a familiar one when I see it. This face, I am sure I have never seen him, at least, not in this class.

  If I remember correctly, I do not know his name. I know everyone in our class but I do not collect the memory of his name besides he never wears his identity card. I wonder how he can enter without it in the first place. I quickly count the number of students in the class. There are five students sitting after me. I count on each side, there are sixteen including the curly haired on my right, and six each in remaining two rows so total thirty-three students in the class.

  My mind works on all possibilities then a solution presents itself. The class attendance register must be having his name.

  I can ask Isabella for it to verify his name. Perhaps I haven't heard his name during the attendance earlier, because I enter the class after the majority of the attendance is taken. The teacher must have grown used to it as she never comments when I arrive late.

  Izzy is the class representative so I decide to talk to her regarding this new boy besides it has been days and we have not talked to each other. Though talking is forbidden in class. We are only supposed to study in class, do the homework and routinely work at dorm. It is never anything out of what comes in our dreams. Izzy and I are still used to sharing a few words in class and outside. It is unusual now though as Izzy is immersed in her routine and I cannot help but wonder if it includes me even just a bit.

  When the bell rings, we form a line to go to the ground for physical activity session. I speed up to catch Isabeela. I try calling her name in a loud whisper because there is absolute silence and me screaming her name will single me out. She does not listen despite there being absolutely no noise in the class. I call her repeatedly until we reach the ground floor. She does not stop and what is more surprising is that even others show any sign of noticing. More like no one can hear me.

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  At last, my patience runs out, and I grab her wrist.

  “Will you stop?”, I blurt out, panting.

  She looks puzzled.

  “What’s wrong with you, you look like you are seeing me for the first time. You didn’t talk to me all day and you are ignoring me now also.” She does not say a word, and stares at me blankly. I glance at the class register in my hand. She must be going to put it back in the staff room.

  “Hey, can you pass me the register before leaving, I will submit it at the staff room myself.”

  Again, the words flow around without reaching her ears. I snatch the register from her hand. She does not speak back but heads to the staff room anyways.

  Why is she going there when I have the register. She must have another work there?

  There are some other classes apart from ours here as well. This is the first time I am seeing so much rush. Not loud noises but just a lot of people together not in line sitting at the ground, and some are running.

  I start turning the pages and continue till last but I cannot find any unfamiliar or newly added names there. A shocking dread tightens in my chest as the truth unfolds in front of me. My eyes twitch when I see the total number of students as thirty-two in it. But I am sure he was sitting in our class. Without his name in the register, how was he allowed to sit in the class?

  A flickering sensation crawls through me. I feel watched, suddenly and unmistakably, and the ground slips beneath my feet. Until now I felt invisible to others but in a flicker of a moment, I realise somebody is watching me.

  I am part of somebody’s dream.

  The very thought of it forces me beyond my limits. I turn to see a teacher staring straight at me from the second-floor window of the prep school, positioned directly to my left. She doesn’t blink.

  Does she know me? Why she is looking at me?

  I turn my head halfway and in the bushes a few blocks away from the building, the curly-haired boy stands motionless.

  He is glaring at the teacher, his gaze heavy and unbroken. The teacher's face is not clearly visible to me. But I can get a hold of the curly-haired boy's face. His eyes are intense, searching, and inexplicably lost. They show an expression which are a mix of confusion and bewilderment.

  I usually avoid looking at him in class. These days I sit at the back, in the leftmost corner which is not much away from him and he always catches me staring when I slip. But now as I am look at him, he seems familiar. I am sure I have seen him before in this school only, but where?

  A distant memory flashes. I am walking down the corridor with Izzy when my eyes fall on him. That was the first time I saw him. It is his curly hair that are easy to recognize. Still, I have never seen him in our class before. Not until I started sitting at the back.

  We are called to form a horizontal line for the race. The teacher and he grow farther away with every step.

  With each passing day, more questions weigh on me. I feel triggered whenever I see everyone around me happily following their routine.

  Am I not the same as before? What has happened that changed everything. It was the day when I couldn’t remember the dream and the school called mom. I get a feeling that visiting home will provide me with some form of answers.