The morning sun rose slowly through the mist and the chill, yet its warmth offered no comfort, no joy. The previous day's horrors, carved into the minds of every survivor, hung over the world like a heavy, inescapable shadow. Streets that had once thrived with life now lay desolate, silent except for the growls of the infected and the shallow, hungry breaths of the undead. Government districts, markets, schools, hospitals—everything had fallen into eerie silence.
A sprawling complex of three buildings stood almost untouched by human presence, a ghostly remnant of normalcy. Above the entrance, a blue-and-white sign proclaimed:
"International School of Geneva – Switzerland (the oldest international school in the world)"
On the second floor of the first building, a teacher and two students lay sprawled across the dusty floor, their eyes closed, their clothes caked with grime. Sunlight filtered through the transparent glass, landing gently on the teacher's face. Slowly, her eyelids fluttered, and as her eyes opened, a brief, almost illusory sense of normalcy washed over her—she felt as if she had been transported back to her lively, laughing classroom.
But the illusion shattered instantly. The snarls of the zombies, the screams of the victims, the blood and carnage from the previous night—all flashed in her mind at once. Tears welled up, but she quickly wiped them away. There was no time to break.
She reached for her purse and pulled out her phone. The screen flickered on: 8:10 AM. She tried calling for help, but there was no signal, not a single bar of internet or phone connectivity. Her chest tightened with the weight of helplessness. Then her eyes fell on the colorful envelopes tucked inside her purse, each stamped delicately with the words:
"For My Love."
Her heart ached at the memories they carried, yet for a moment, they gave her a strange sense of grounding.
A sudden idea sparked in her mind. She rushed toward the broadcast room, a small table dusted with age holding a microphone, headphones, and a maze of buttons. She laid the envelopes carefully in front of her. Her hands trembled slightly as she steadied herself.
"I… I'm going to broadcast ," she whispered, almost to herself. "Maybe someone will hear. Maybe someone will find hope…"
But she had no idea how to activate the school's loudspeaker system.
Her gaze fell on yaram, the most intelligent of the students. She shook him urgently.
"Yaram… yaram! Listen to me! I need your help. Please… open your eyes!"
Yaram's eyelids fluttered. The sunlight pierced through the glass and finally roused him fully. He blinked rapidly, taking in his surroundings—leena, too, had awakened. The three of them stared at each other, shock and confusion etched across their faces. The teacher grasped yaram's hand and led him toward the console.
"Yaram..… I need to broadcast. I want everyone in the school to hear me. Can you help me connect the system?"
He drew a slow, steadying breath, glanced at the buttons before him, and said firmly,
"Yes, Miss… I can do it."
Yaram looked on in disbelief. "You know how to operate all of this?"
Yaram smiled faintly, "I used to be in the school's robotics club… remember?"
With the precision of a technician, yaram began pressing the buttons —some inside, some outside, some toggling switches up and down. A faint green light flickered on the room's screen. Five minutes later, he returned to the teacher's side, headphones in place, his expression serious.
"Miss… when you're ready, just press this button. Your voice will reach the entire school."
The teacher met his gaze. For the first time in hours, hope shimmered in her eyes.
"Thank you….. yaram," she said, her voice thick with emotion.
Slowly, she lowered herself onto the chair, headphones secured over her ears, and drew the microphone toward her. She took a deep breath, letting the weight of the envelopes—"For My Love"—settle beside her. And now, her hand hovered over the broadcast button.