Chapter no 7
The Voice in the Library
The next morning, Lina headed back to school with her slate board clutched carefully under her arm, the way any child might carry a fragile treasure. The sky was still pale with dawn, and the cool air brushed softly against her cheeks as she walked beside Marla. She didn't complain about the walk; she didn't even feel the weight of the distance. Her mind was too full-full of letters she wanted to learn, sounds she wanted to understand, questions she hadn't yet learned how to ask.
But despite the painful lie that allowed her to attend school — the lie that she wasn't her parents' daughter — Lina felt something new blooming inside her. A quiet hope. A small spark, fragile but alive. She wondered if this was what happiness felt like: not loud or grand, but gentle, like a candle flickering in the dark.
When she entered the schoolyard, children were already forming groups, laughing and chasing each other. The noise rose like a flock of birds-lively and carefree. Adriel was in a cluster of boys with his precious new pencil. The children oohed and ahhed, passing it around as though it were a rare jewel.
Lina stood on the edge of the crowd, unnoticed. Her slate board had no decorations, no ribbons, no special marks. But she clutched it close anyway. It was hers, and that was enough.
Morning Lessons
The teacher started with simple letters. She wrote them on the board in flowing strokes, her hand sure and confident.
"A," she said. "This is the first letter. It begins many words.
Adriel immediately raised his hand, wiggling his fingers dramatically.
"A for apple!" he shouted before anyone else could utter a word.
The class giggled. The teacher smiled. "Very good, Adriel."
Lina repeated the shape of the letter on her slate. Her chalk moved slowly, carefully. She traced each curve three times until it looked almost like the one on the board. She didn't raise her hand, afraid she might say something wrong. Inside her head, however, she repeated the teacher's words over and over again, storing them away like tiny seeds.
When the numbers came next, she memorized them with that same quiet hunger. One. Two. Three. She traced them until her small fingers were white with chalk dust.
Other children raised hands, laughed, whispered to each other.
Lina kept quiet, listening to everything as a sponge soaks into the sunlight.
The Hall of Curiosities
The children erupted out of the room in a burst of noise and energy when the teacher finally announced lunch break. They scattered out into the courtyard with snacks and water flasks. Lina took a few steps towards the doorway but then stopped.
Something tugged at her attention — a quiet pull from the corner of the hallway. She saw a wooden path extending deeper into the building, darker and quieter than the rest. A sign over it said:
LIBRARY
The word was foreign to her eyes: long, curved, beautiful in shape. She whispered it under her breath, letting the letters roll across her tongue. She did not know why, but the word felt important, as if destiny had waited behind that doorway.
The words of Marla echoed in her ears:
"If you want to grow, learn everything you can."
The memory strengthened her small steps, and she walked towards the hallway, as if her feet were guided by an invisible force.
Entering the Library
The door creaked softly as she opened it. Inside, the library was a different world altogether: quieter, older, untouched. In the sun's rays, dust floated like tiny stars suspended in the air. The shelves were high and crowded, books stacked at all possible angles. Some looked new while others seemed to be from a very ancient time, their spines cracked and letters faded.
Lina stepped inside carefully, as if she feared disturbing the silence. Her fingertips brushed against the nearest shelf. The books felt cool beneath her touch.
She didn't recognize any of the titles. The letters were complicated and ornate. Still, she admired them like someone might admire intricate carvings. With her small fingers, she traced a few patterns.
Then she saw an open book lying on a table in the middle of the room.
It was different.
Older.
Wider.
Almost… sacral.
The pages were thick and yellowed, wrinkled at their edges. Strange symbols danced across them - not letters she had learned, but elegant curves and lines that seemed almost alive.
She approached slowly, her heart beating louder with each step.
She whispered, "What… are you?"
The book seemed to breathe with its own quiet energy. She reached out, the tips of her fingers trembling.
Just before she touched the page—
A sound brushed her ear.
The whisper
It was soft, too soft to be a person's voice.
Not the rustling of pages.
Not the creak of the wooden shelves.
Something else.
A whisper.
"Lina…"
Her heart lurched, and she spun around, eyes wide.
Nobody was standing behind her.
The door remained shut.
The room was empty.
Or so it seemed.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "Who's there?"
Silence.
Then—
"Do not be afraid."
The voice was warm. Gentle.
Like a mother's voice, but softer, more distant-like it came from the edge of a dream.
Lina clutched the table for support. "Who… who are you?" she whispered.
There was no answer. The room grew silent again. Only her quickened breathing filled the air.
Her mind was racing. Had she imagined it? Was it the wind? A child outside?
Then the faint glow caught her eye.
In the reflection of the tall window behind the shelves - not in the room itself, but only in the glass - she saw them.
Two glowing hands.
Resting lightly on her small shoulders.
Her breath caught.
She spun around again.
Nothing.
But the warmth remained, a soft, comforting warmth that wrapped gently around her like an embrace she had never known.
A tear had escaped her eye before she understood why. It wasn't fear.
It was recognition.
Deep inside her, it felt like she had known this presence forever.
A Deeper Call
Lina closed the ancient book, yet she couldn't walk away from it. Some unnamed force kept pulling her deeper into the library.
She wandered to the back, where smaller shelves held children's books. Bright covers. Simple stories. Books she could actually read.
Her eyes fell upon a thin book titled:
"Little Stars of the Night."
She picked it up and sat on the wooden floor beside the window. Sunlight warmed her cheek as she opened to the first page. The drawings were simple: stars smiling down at children sleeping peacefully.
She whispered the words slowly, her lips trembling with effort.
And then the voice returned.
"Learn, my child. You will need this."
Lina's breath shivered.
She should have been terrified.
But she wasn't.
The presence was protective, familiar, like a guardian she had never met yet had always needed.
Those glowing hands — the same hands that had appeared the day she was born — were still with her, watching, guiding, loving her in a way no one else in the house ever had.
Someone Else Is Watching
As she read, a shadow stretched across the floor.
Her heart jumped, this time not in fear, but in surprise.
Standing at the end of the aisle was the school librarian. She was an elderly woman with tightly tied silver hair in a bun, with glasses perched on her nose, and a face which under its seriousness wore a stern yet kind look.
"What are you doing here, little one?" she asked.
Lina scrambled to her feet. "I—I wanted to learn. I'm sorry. I didn't know if I'm allowed to be here."
The woman studied her for a long moment. Then her face softened.
"You are always allowed to learn," she said softly.
The words poured into Lina's heart like warm honey.
Someone had spoken to her with kindness.
Someone had given her permission to exist.
But then the librarian leaned in closer, her eyes narrowing.
"There is… something around you," she whispered under her breath, almost as if speaking to herself. "A presence."
Lina froze.
The glowing hands disappeared in an instant.
The librarian blinked in confusion, then forced a small smile. "Come, child. I'll help you find easier books for your level."
Lina nodded silently, still shaken but comforted by the gentle tone.
Walking Home
Lina walked home from school beside Marla, who was carrying a small cloth bag slung over her shoulder filled with leftover bread. The road was dusty, lined with tall grass swaying in the afternoon breeze.
Marla looked down at Lina several times. "You look… different today. Happier. Calm."
Lina hesitated before responding. "Marla… do ghosts talk?
Marla's foot stilled mid-step. Her eyes widened slightly. "Why? Did someone scare you?" Lina shook her head quickly. "No. It wasn't scary. It… felt like someone was protecting me." Marla stared at her for a long, quiet moment. There was something strange in the expression of her eyes — fear, tenderness, a sort of recognition. Then she placed her hand on the head of Lina softly. "Some children," she whispered, "are born with a destiny that calls to them early. Maybe you are one of them." Lina did not fully grasp the words, but she understood the comfort. She walked the rest of the way with a soft smile. Nightfall That night, as Lina lay on her thin mattress, the room lit only by a faint moonbeam through the window, she felt the warmth return. Two gentle hands rested beside her head, unseen by anybody else in the house. The same soft voice whispered: "I will not leave you Lina, not till the truth comes." Lina closed her eyes and wasn't afraid. She felt safer than she had ever felt in her life.