ENIGMA

Veil 2

As she opened her mouth to stammer an apology, Advik cut her off with a sharp glance. “I don’t want to hear excuses,” he said, his voice low but firm. The authority in his tone made her feel smaller than ever. “Where’s your project work?”

Inaya’s shoulders slumped, and she fumbled for words, but nothing coherent came out. “I... I was going to...”

“Documents, handwritten notes, whatever you have,” Advik interrupted, his patience clearly wearing thin. He didn’t shout, but the quiet intensity in his voice was far more intimidating. “I don’t care what you were going to do. I want to see what you’ve actually done.”

Inaya hung her head low, avoiding his piercing gaze. Her hands trembled as she clutched the edge of her shirt, feeling the crushing weight of her mistake. She had nothing to show him. No project work, no notes—just a room full of distractions she couldn’t hide fast enough.

Advik pressed the bridge of his nose, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. His eyes closed briefly as he tried to rein in his temper, but when he spoke again, his voice was steely. “What am I supposed to do with you?” he asked, his tone a mixture of disappointment and disbelief.

Inaya stood frozen, her mind racing for an answer, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. The weight of her guilt hung heavily in the air, pressing down on her like a vice. She couldn’t meet his gaze, knowing full well that any excuse she made would only make things worse.

Seeing her silence, Advik sighed, a sound that was more of frustration than resignation. “Alright,” he said, his voice cold. “The project work can wait. It’s clear that it has a later deadline.” He paused, giving her a hard look that made her insides twist with anxiety. “Show me your homework.”

Inaya’s heart pounded in her chest, and she stayed rooted to the spot, her mind blank with panic. She hadn’t done her homework. In fact, she had received a slip from school asking for her parents’ signature, a slip she had hidden in her bag because she had claimed she was ill and couldn’t complete the assignments. The lie she had told was coming back to haunt her now, and she couldn’t think of a way out.

Advik’s patience was wearing thin, and his voice took on a sharper edge. “I said, show me your homework, Inaya.” When she still didn’t move, he leaned forward, his gaze piercing through her. “I’m going to count to ten. By the time I’m done, your homework had better be in front of me.”

His words sent a chill down Inaya’s spine. The calmness in his tone was terrifying, and she knew he wasn’t bluffing. The look in his eyes told her that this was her last chance.

“One,” Advik began, his voice measured and deliberate.

Inaya’s breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t even move. The realization of how badly she had messed up began to settle in, paralyzing her with fear.

“Two,” he continued, his gaze never leaving her.

Her heart raced, but she still couldn’t force herself to move. The thought of what would happen when he reached ten was too overwhelming.

“Three.”

Inaya’s eyes darted around the room, searching for something, anything, that might help her. But all she saw were the remnants of her deception—a messy room filled with distractions, and nothing that could save her now.

“Four.”

Her legs felt like they were made of lead, and she still couldn’t move. Her chest tightened as her mind screamed at her to do something, but she was frozen in place.

“Five.”

The calm in Advik’s voice was unnerving. He wasn’t yelling, but that only made the situation more terrifying. He was in complete control, and she was spiraling out of it.