Chapter 1:
Day Two: VEIN
VEIN
---
The morning sun spilled softly through the window of the hostel room, brushing VEIN’s tangled hair with a cool, gentle caress. He lay sprawled across his bed, his left hand resting on a cushion pressed to his face, the faint lines of old cuts visible across his skin. His veins, a strange greenish-blue, throbbed quietly beneath his pale arms. His school teacher’s uniform was wrinkled from sleep, and a simple ring glinted on his right leg. On the desk, a photo frame sat askew beside scattered blue and red berries, while the sky beyond the window painted the room in calm shades of blue.
A breeze drifted through, lifting strands of VEIN’s messy hair and softening the tension around his shoulders. Slowly, he pushed the cushion aside with his right hand, then lifted a watch from the bed with his left, pointing it toward the ceiling, checking the time before setting it back down. He rose, the creak of the floor beneath him unnoticed, and padded toward the bathroom. The tap’s water splashed into his hands, cold and brisk, before he splashed his face, pausing for a brief second to gather himself.
Reaching for a towel, VEIN wiped the water from his face and made his way back to the mirror. His comb traced through stubborn locks of hair, but a stray strand fell over his forehead. With precise care, he wet it gently from the nearby water bottle, setting it perfectly into place. Then, returning to his bed, he arranged the cushions with methodical attention. Watches and ID cards were donned and adjusted, and soon he stepped out, locking the room behind him.
In the corridor, VEIN walked slowly, his shoes tapping lightly against the polished floor. Ahead, four female teachers appeared, and instinctively, he hugged the wall, quickening his pace slightly. One of them, SINE, caught sight of him and slowed, a thoughtful look crossing her face.
“VEIN?”
He ignored the call, keeping his eyes forward.
SINE watched him, a gentle curiosity in her gaze. “Hey, VEIN.”
Still, he continued, unbothered, until her soft smile coaxed him to stop. He turned, eyes meeting hers, standing three feet away in measured politeness.
“Sorry, but…?” VEIN’s tone was careful, polite.
SINE’s eyes searched his, lingering. “Didn’t you recognize me?”
VEIN shook his head ever so slightly.
“Really, VEIN,” she continued casually, “I recognized you by the birthmark on your neck. How could you forget me?”
VEIN’s gaze drifted for a moment before returning to her. “It’s not a good idea to stare at someone’s neck,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “And this isn’t a birthmark.”
“Tattoo?” another teacher blurted, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. SINE pinched her colleague’s hand subtly, silencing her.
“My apologies,” VEIN said, bowing slightly. “I believe you’re calling the right name for the wrong person.”
SINE felt a strange twinge of emotion at his words, almost like a fleeting embrace.
“I should be going now,” he added, bowing once more, before walking away. Behind him, the teachers exchanged confused glances as he casually wiped his face with a handkerchief, pocketing it afterward.
---
Outside the sixth classroom, VEIN lingered for a moment, his hand resting against the door.
Why did I become a teacher? he wondered silently, a shadow of regret passing through his mind.
He opened the door and stepped inside, the quiet shuffle of his shoes echoing in the empty room.
---
In the school’s CCTV control room, an operator monitored the cameras with the left hand poised over the mouse. VEIN appeared on the screen, entering the sixth classroom, his left hand resting on the desk as he offered a small, calm smile.
Back in the classroom, he mirrored the same movements. His mind wandered, questioning his next step. Should he maintain this facade of calm, smiling at the students, or simply leave? Perhaps leaving would have been simpler.
As he reached for the door, a female staff member from Pune handed him the attendance and subject books. VEIN inclined his head in a respectful bow.
“Page number 52, concept number 6,” she instructed softly.
“Thank you, ma’am,” VEIN replied, placing the books carefully on the chair before standing and surveying the room.
---
“It’s not like we need to drive ourselves crazy with constant studying,” he began, his voice casual, wandering over the cluttered desks. “These books… they’re just someone else’s thoughts on things. They tell you how someone felt, what someone thought—but life won’t hand you the same experiences. You’ll find your own path. And those marks? Ninety plus for everyone. Attendance? Full marks too.”
The students blinked at him, confused yet intrigued.
“Teaching like this,” he continued, lifting the attendance register and subject book, “would be like breaking the branches of your creativity tree and forcing them in one direction. Don’t stress. Just enjoy your presence here.”
He stepped toward the door, paused, took a deep breath, and let it out.
Saved for today… but soon, I’ll have to teach them properly. When it happens, it happens. No need to rush.
---
The morning sun spilled softly through the window of the hostel room, brushing VEIN’s tangled hair with a cool, gentle caress. He lay sprawled across his bed, his left hand resting on a cushion pressed to his face, the faint lines of old cuts visible across his skin. His veins, a strange greenish-blue, throbbed quietly beneath his pale arms. His school teacher’s uniform was wrinkled from sleep, and a simple ring glinted on his right leg. On the desk, a photo frame sat askew beside scattered blue and red berries, while the sky beyond the window painted the room in calm shades of blue.
A breeze drifted through, lifting strands of VEIN’s messy hair and softening the tension around his shoulders. Slowly, he pushed the cushion aside with his right hand, then lifted a watch from the bed with his left, pointing it toward the ceiling, checking the time before setting it back down. He rose, the creak of the floor beneath him unnoticed, and padded toward the bathroom. The tap’s water splashed into his hands, cold and brisk, before he splashed his face, pausing for a brief second to gather himself.
Reaching for a towel, VEIN wiped the water from his face and made his way back to the mirror. His comb traced through stubborn locks of hair, but a stray strand fell over his forehead. With precise care, he wet it gently from the nearby water bottle, setting it perfectly into place. Then, returning to his bed, he arranged the cushions with methodical attention. Watches and ID cards were donned and adjusted, and soon he stepped out, locking the room behind him.
In the corridor, VEIN walked slowly, his shoes tapping lightly against the polished floor. Ahead, four female teachers appeared, and instinctively, he hugged the wall, quickening his pace slightly. One of them, SINE, caught sight of him and slowed, a thoughtful look crossing her face.
“VEIN?”
He ignored the call, keeping his eyes forward.
SINE watched him, a gentle curiosity in her gaze. “Hey, VEIN.”
Still, he continued, unbothered, until her soft smile coaxed him to stop. He turned, eyes meeting hers, standing three feet away in measured politeness.
“Sorry, but…?” VEIN’s tone was careful, polite.
SINE’s eyes searched his, lingering. “Didn’t you recognize me?”
VEIN shook his head ever so slightly.
“Really, VEIN,” she continued casually, “I recognized you by the birthmark on your neck. How could you forget me?”
VEIN’s gaze drifted for a moment before returning to her. “It’s not a good idea to stare at someone’s neck,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “And this isn’t a birthmark.”
“Tattoo?” another teacher blurted, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. SINE pinched her colleague’s hand subtly, silencing her.
“My apologies,” VEIN said, bowing slightly. “I believe you’re calling the right name for the wrong person.”
SINE felt a strange twinge of emotion at his words, almost like a fleeting embrace.
“I should be going now,” he added, bowing once more, before walking away. Behind him, the teachers exchanged confused glances as he casually wiped his face with a handkerchief, pocketing it afterward.
---
Outside the sixth classroom, VEIN lingered for a moment, his hand resting against the door.
Why did I become a teacher? he wondered silently, a shadow of regret passing through his mind.
He opened the door and stepped inside, the quiet shuffle of his shoes echoing in the empty room.
---
In the school’s CCTV control room, an operator monitored the cameras with the left hand poised over the mouse. VEIN appeared on the screen, entering the sixth classroom, his left hand resting on the desk as he offered a small, calm smile.
Back in the classroom, he mirrored the same movements. His mind wandered, questioning his next step. Should he maintain this facade of calm, smiling at the students, or simply leave? Perhaps leaving would have been simpler.
As he reached for the door, a female staff member from Pune handed him the attendance and subject books. VEIN inclined his head in a respectful bow.
“Page number 52, concept number 6,” she instructed softly.
“Thank you, ma’am,” VEIN replied, placing the books carefully on the chair before standing and surveying the room.
---
“It’s not like we need to drive ourselves crazy with constant studying,” he began, his voice casual, wandering over the cluttered desks. “These books… they’re just someone else’s thoughts on things. They tell you how someone felt, what someone thought—but life won’t hand you the same experiences. You’ll find your own path. And those marks? Ninety plus for everyone. Attendance? Full marks too.”
The students blinked at him, confused yet intrigued.
“Teaching like this,” he continued, lifting the attendance register and subject book, “would be like breaking the branches of your creativity tree and forcing them in one direction. Don’t stress. Just enjoy your presence here.”
He stepped toward the door, paused, took a deep breath, and let it out.
Saved for today… but soon, I’ll have to teach them properly. When it happens, it happens. No need to rush.
---
Please sign in to leave a comment.