The Ghost's Diary 👻 ✓

70. Daffodils

"You're leaving?" I stay behind after class ends. Only Mr Alam and I remain.

He zips his laptop case with a swift glide. Looking up, he smiles.

"Yes, Ms Knightley." He tilts his head to the side.
"Maybe, you'd prefer Lindsey since I'm not your teacher anymore. If so, you can call me Yousuf now," he jokes.

I shake my head at the thought more.
"Whatever the names."
The grip on my bag strap tightens.
"But why?"

Mr Alam shakes his head.
"You don't need a bodyguard anymore. And I'm not even qualified to be a teacher." He smiles.

My lips part a bit, remembering why my brother thought I needed that in the first place.

Mr Alam notices.
"I may know more than you think I do..."

I look up, but don't ask anything else. Or even what he knows.
Just stand there with my hand gripping my bag strap.

Mr Alam puts his own black case aside and says,
"... He's still like a brother to me, Lindsey. And I'm always a call away if you need any history tutoring."

I roll my eyes and he laughs.

The last time I was with Mr Alam-- or Yousuf-- at school comes into my mind as snowflakes cascade down onto the stone grave.

My knees bend down-- placing a small rose in the centre of the stone.

Funny how I was the one criticising the idea of placing roses on graves and here I am...

A laugh resounds, almost as cheery as the lambent lights coming from the stores and street decorations. People walk down the lanes outside the cemetery with fireworks amd sprinklers in their arms.

My head turns around to see Dylan and Gran with Gellert and Gary Palmer, talking and laughing.

A smile adorns my face, as I look back at the grave.

Richard Boaz Rosen
(1939-2015)

"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."