The Whiteboard

When we see things differently, we sometimes see more than we bargained for.

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The teacher welcomed the students into the classroom, a tiny, crooked smile on her lips. The morning had been quiet, the air thick with anticipation of the exam questions.

A student, Elvin, stood hesitant by the door. “Ms Chung, look at that.” She pointed to a faint line across the whiteboard. Long, jagged and even, it seemed purposeful. Etched.

Ms Chung, eyes furrowed, glanced at the board.

“Probably just the marker pen. We must have forgotten to clean it after yesterday’s class.”

Elvin’s eyes became saucers. “That…doesn’t look like whiteboard ink. It’s a symbol.”

Ms. Chung simply started distributing the Math papers. “You’ve got too much of an imagination, Elvin. Focus on the test.”

But the little boy’s eyes fixed on the board.

The line was morphing, and began to dig deeper into the board’s surface, leaving a throbbing mark.

The classroom door slammed shut, and the lights flickered.

“Miss Chung, I’ve got it. It’s the symbol from your story.”

Miss Chung turned to him, her face eerily stoic. “I didn’t want you to find out this way, but here we are.”

The students murmured, confusion written on their faces. Ms. Chung smiled at them, gaze glassy and —wrong.

The jagged line shifted again, edges sharp and titled.

At Elvin.

“You saw it differently. Now it sees you.”

Would you compromise your perspectives?

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