Chapter 161 : Ibrahim's childhood - Part seven

Taking a cigarette from the pack, Ibrahim fumbled slightly with the lighter Amir offered. Just as he managed to light the cigarette and take a drag, a sound cut through the tense silence – a soft, almost hesitant knock on the office door.

Both boys froze. 

It was a gentle knock, almost polite, but in the current situation, it sounded like a thunderclap. Who could it be?

 The cigarette tumbled from Ibrahim's lips, forgotten, as he stared at the door with wide, panicked eyes.

Amir, equally terrified, jumped back as if burned. "Who could that be?"

"I don't know." Thinking fast Ibrahim lunged for the principal's chair and pushed it towards the bathroom door. The wheels made maneuvering easier, but the dead weight in the chair made it feel heavier than it actually was, "The carpet!" he shouted at Amir. 

Amir scrambled towards the carpet and grabbed itw. It was there on the ground under the chair and now bore a blood stain. 

Reaching the bathroom door, Ibrahim opened door and shoved the chair inside. And Amir tossed the bloody carpet in a corner. With trembling hands, they slammed the bathroom door shut, shutting out the evidence of the terrible deed.

"See who it is," Amir told. 

Wiping the sweat that beaded on his forehead, Ibrahim crept towards the door and slowly turned the knob. But the hallway was empty. Just as he started to relax, a slight tug on his trouser leg made him jump. He looked down. 

Standing there, gazing up at him with wide, curious eyes, was a little girl. She couldn't have been older than two, with beautiful black hair that fell past her shoulders in loose curls. She clutched a small water bottle in one hand and a miniature sling bag in the other, both seemingly designed for her tiny frame.

Ibrahim stared at her, dumbfounded. This unexpected visitor, this innocent child, was the last thing he'd expected to see.

The little girl held out her water bottle to him, tilting it playfully. "Finished?" she chirped.

Amir recognised the girls' face as he stood beside Ibrahim near the door, "Oh, it's the journalist's daughter."

That day, there had been an art competition for students, and journalists had come in to cover it for the next day's newspaper paper. Amir remembered seeing the girl earlier, clinging to her father's leg. Perhaps a teacher, noticing her thirst, had directed her to the principal's office, knowing there was usually a kettle of lukewarm water kept for principal all the time. 

"Do you think she wants us to refill her bottle?" Amir asked Ibrahim. 

The little girl nodded vigorously, her hairband popping loose and falling to the ground with the force of her movement. Ibrahim couldn't help but smile at her innocent enthusiasm.

He gently took the water bottle from her hand and passed it to Amir, "Here. Fill it for her."

As Amir went to fill the water bottle, Ibrahim knelt down to the little girl's level and picked up the fallen hairband. Then he brushed away a stray strand of hair from her eyes and carefully placed the band back on her head, tucking in any loose strands. He couldn't help but marvel at her hair. How did a little girl manage such long hair?

It seemed a luxury, something his own sister, Zainab, could never have. As Aliya firmly believed long hair caused fevers in children. Though this little girl seemed to have escaped that fate. Perhaps her mother took extra care of her hair, braiding it or using special oils to keep it healthy.

Ibrahim longed to reach out and touch it, to feel its softness against his fingers. But he stopped himself. To the little girl, he was a stranger and touching her wouldn't be right.

Suddenly, the girl rummaged around in her little purse, pulling out a brightly colored band-aid with cartoon characters on it. She toddled closer, holding it out to Ibrahim with a serious expression. "You... You are hurt," she declared, pointing at his wrist.

He blinked, surprised and then glanced down at his wrist, noticing a single, tiny drop of blood staining his skin. It wasn't his blood, though. When he'd shot the principal, a spray of blood must have landed on him maybe. The little girl must have seen it and mistaken it for an injury.

A small smile broke across his face. This small act of kindness.... so simple and pure. Ibrahim took the band-aid gently from her grasp, touched by her innocent concern. "Thank you," he murmured.

Amir returned just then, the water bottle filled. He bent down and handed it to the girl, who beamed and took it with a grateful gurgle. With a final, wobbly wave, she turned and toddled away. 

Unbeknownst to Ibrahim, the little girl with the bright eyes and cascading black hair was Ava Lim, his future wife. Neither of them had the faintest clue about the other's identity. This seemingly insignificant encounter but it was actually their very first meeting. Yet, it was a meeting neither of them would ever consciously remember.

Amir locked the door again, "I can't think straight. Maybe I should call someone… some muscle."

Ibrahim considered. They couldn't stay locked in the office forever, and their classes were about to start, "Alright, call your father's men."

Amir grabbed the principal's landline and dialled a number. A short while later, a group of men arrived discreetly and took care of the body, removing it from the office secretly and presumably disposing of it in a way that would leave no trace. They were professionals, used to handling delicate situations like this. They knew how to make things disappear. Money exchanged hands – enough to ensure the principal's family wouldn't raise an alarm.

After that incident, Ibrahim managed to get through the rest of the school day and then made his way home. He kept his face neutral, trying to appear like nothing was wrong.

A week passed. In the meantime, Zafar remained oblivious. Amir and his father had handled the situation well without telling Zafar. The school announced a new female principal, and the other teachers and students simply assumed the previous principal had transferred to another school.

One evening, during dinner, Zafar spoke up, "The principal changed suddenly?" He asked casually.

Having rehearsed this answer a hundred times in his head, Ibrahim met his father's gaze confidently. "Yeah," he said, taking a bite of his food. "She joined recently."

Zafar's eyes remained locked on Ibrahim. It was as if Zafar were testing the waters, waiting for a crack in Ibrahim's facade. Aliya, Samir, and Zainab who were focused on their own meals without knowing anything about the tension.

Zafar cleared his throat, "Ibrahim. Meet me in the garden after dinner."

When the dinner was over, Ibrahim retreated to his room and changed out of his school uniform, opting for a comfortable pair of everyday trousers and a t-shirt. Afterthat he headed out to the garden.

Zafar had a habit of taking a solitary walk after dinner. He'd pace the perimeter of their expansive mansion grounds. 

Ibrahim followed the path his father took, the manicured lawn crunching softly beneath his sneakers. Zafar continued his steady walk, hands clasped firmly behind his back. As Ibrahim drew near, Zafar seemed to sense his presence, "How was your day at school, Ibrahim?" 

"Just the usual classes and homework." Ibrahim replied calmly.

Zafar stopped abruptly, causing Ibrahim to pause as well, "Did something… unusual happen at school a few days ago?"

 "What makes you say that?" Ibrahim countered.

He met his father's gaze head-on. He had grown considerably in the past year, and at his current height, he nearly reached Zafar's eye level. In a few years, he might even surpass Zafar.

Zafar growled. "I am your father. Don't think for a second that I can't see through your. I know when something is wrong. We both know what I'm talking about. The principal. Why did you kill him?"