Chapter 176: Chapter 176

Later, the dishes were done, the stove wiped clean, and the chairs gently pushed in.

Mr. Dand had gone to his room early, claiming he wanted to rest his "old bones," though they knew he just wanted to sit by the window and listen to the radio in peace.

Billy and Artur lingered in their room.

Artur sat on the floor, back against the bedframe, holding a worn photo of his mother in front of the old school building, hand raised mid-laugh, a chalkboard behind her.

Billy sat cross-legged beside him, resting his chin in his hand. "She looks... happy."

Artur gave a small nod, voice quiet. "She was always like that after class. Said the kids reminded her life could be simple, even when it wasn’t."

Billy leaned his head against the bedframe too, shoulder just brushing Artur’s. "Do you think it’ll feel like that for you?"

Artur didn’t answer right away. His eyes traced the photo, the creases in it, the faded ink at the corners. "I don’t know yet," he said finally. "But I want to find out."

Billy smiled gently, fingers tapping against his knee. "That’s enough, isn’t it? Wanting to find out."

Their eyes met for a moment too long before Billy broke the spell with a grin. "Come on—bedtime. You’ve got students to scare tomorrow."

Artur gave a soft laugh, got to his feet. "I’ll need to practice my serious teacher face."

Billy turned over his shoulder as he headed toward the light switch. "You’ve already got that one down."

The room dimmed into a hush of twilight-blue shadows, and when they both settled into their beds—quiet, content—the night wrapped around them gently, the sound of frogs croaking faintly outside.

The kind of peace that only comes when something uncertain has been answered, even just a little.

The morning light spilled in through the window like warm water, brushing against the wooden floorboards and the fabric of Artur’s shirt as he stood by the mirror.

He’d ironed the collar twice already, but still smoothed it again, his hands lingering at the seam.

His tie was folded neatly on the table, untouched.

Behind him, Billy stirred, voice husky from sleep. "You’re already up?"

Artur’s eyes stayed on the mirror. "Didn’t sleep much."

Billy sat up slowly, blinking. "Because of today?"

Artur gave a tight smile, turning to grab his tie. "It’s strange. I’ve been in that school a hundred times. But today feels like I’m walking into a different building."

Billy stood, barefoot on the cool floor. "You’re not a visitor anymore," he said softly. "They’re expecting you."

Artur didn’t answer. He looped the tie around his neck, fumbled once, then let out a quiet breath.

Billy stepped in. "Here," he murmured, reaching up. "You always twist it too early."

Their hands brushed. Billy fixed the knot in calm silence. When he was done, he looked up at him. "There. Serious enough to scare them. Kind enough they’ll still trust you."

Artur let out a dry laugh. "I’m not sure I’m either."

"You are," Billy said, not blinking. "And I think... your mom would’ve been proud."

That one landed deep. Artur gave the smallest nod, his jaw tightening. "Thanks," he said quietly.

Billy stepped back, clapped his hands lightly. "Now go. Before I eat your share of breakfast."

Artur chuckled as he reached for his bag, then paused in the doorway. "I’ll be back before lunch."

Billy raised an eyebrow. "Unless you get trapped in the staff room with Mr. Boring."

Artur gave him a look, but it softened into something warm. "If they do, tell My. Dad he’s in charge of dinner."

And with that, Artur stepped outside into the crisp morning air—his first steps as something he never thought he’d become. A teacher. A continuation. A quiet echo of someone he once loved dearly.

The school grounds hadn’t changed much.

Children’s laughter still drifted through the breeze, tangled between rustling leaves and the low ring of a distant bell.

Artur stepped through the gate with steady feet, yet each step felt heavier than the last. Not with dread—but with memory. Familiar buildings. Familiar corners. Even the dust seemed to carry echoes.

A few students spotted him. One of them—a girl with ribboned braids—whispered something to her friend, then glanced back with wide, curious eyes.

He adjusted the strap of his satchel and kept walking.

Inside the staff building, voices filled the corridor. Someone coughed. A chair scraped. And then the principal’s office door opened.

"Artur," Principal Kale said with a smile, stepping aside. "Right on time."

Artur offered a nod, stepping in.

The room smelled of chalk and old books, the curtains half drawn.

A thick binder sat open on the desk, pages lined with lesson plans and red ink.

"I didn’t expect such a quick reply," the principal said, gesturing for him to sit.

"I gave it a lot of thought," Artur replied, taking the chair opposite. "Didn’t sleep much the past few nights."

Principal Kale gave a knowing look. "I understand. Your mother left a large space behind. We didn’t just lose a teacher—we lost a voice this village trusted."

Artur glanced down. "That’s the part that makes this hard. I’m not her."

"No one’s asking you to be." The principal leaned forward, folding his hands. "But the students remember her. Some of them were in her class. They’ll see you and feel something... familiar. And that’s not a burden—it’s a bridge."

Artur was quiet for a moment, the words settling in.

"What would you like me to teach?" he asked finally.

"Start with homeroom. English. Take it light this week—observe more than you instruct. The staff will guide you where needed." A pause. "We’d also like you to help with the school reading club. They’ve been scattered since she left."

Artur gave a small nod. "Alright."

The principal smiled, then rose. "Come, I’ll show you your room."

They stepped into the corridor. The school smelled like ink and wooden floors.

Outside, through an open window, children were running across the yard, their shoes thudding on packed earth.

As they passed one classroom, a younger teacher stepped out and caught sight of him. "You’re her son," she said, not unkindly. "I remember you. You used to wait outside with a book while she finished her lessons."

Artur offered a polite smile. "I still read too much."

She grinned. "That’ll help in here."

When they reached the classroom, the door creaked softly as the principal pushed it open.

Sunlight slanted in from tall windows. Desks sat in uneven rows, some with faded carvings in their wood.

The blackboard had chalk notes from the last lesson—grammar drills and a quote at the top:

"Kindness speaks louder than fear."

The principal looked at him. "She always began her week with a quote. That one stayed longer than the others."

Artur stepped into the room, his fingers brushing the teacher’s desk, then trailing along its edge.

It wasn’t his yet. Not fully. But maybe... someday soon, it could be.

"Can I stay here a while?" he asked quietly.

The principal nodded. "Of course. Take your time."

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

And in the silence, Artur stood still, eyes on the board, heart quietly sifting through years of echoing footsteps and words unspoken.

A few minutes passed, just enough for the dust in the air to settle and the room’s silence to grow familiar.

Then came the soft knock.

Artur turned as the door opened. Principal Kale peeked in with a warm smile. "Ready?" he asked.

Artur exhaled once, then nodded. "Yeah."

They walked together down the corridor, footsteps echoing on the wooden floor.

The closer they got to the classroom, the louder the voices became—teenage chatter, chairs scraping, a low beat of someone drumming fingers on a desk.

At the door, Principal Kale paused and turned to him.

"Just be yourself. You don’t have to prove anything today."

Artur gave a tight smile. "I’ll try not to scare them off."

The principal chuckled and opened the door.

The classroom settled immediately. Heads turned. A few whispers. One student straightened their posture too quickly, as if caught doing something wrong.

"Class," the principal said, stepping in, "this is Mr. Artur Dand. He’ll be taking over some of your lessons, starting with English."

Artur stepped forward, the eyes of twenty students scanning him like searchlights.

Some looked curious. Some skeptical. One in the back gave a lazy shrug.

Principal Kale offered him the floor with a small nod and quietly stepped out, shutting the door behind him.

Artur faced them, heart steady but guarded. He glanced at the chalk in the tray, then looked at the board.

"You can just call me Artur," he began, voice even but not loud. "I’ll be here for your English lessons. But today, I don’t want to talk about grammar or vocabulary."

He walked slowly to the board, picked up the chalk, and wrote:

"Why do we use words?"

Turning back to the class, he leaned lightly on the desk behind him.

"Not a trick question. You can answer."

A few students exchanged glances.

One girl near the front raised her hand hesitantly. "To... communicate?"

"Good," Artur nodded. "What else?"

A boy in the second row slouched forward. "To argue?"

One boy grinned. "To get out of trouble."

Another girl smirked, "To get into trouble."

That drew a couple of laughs. Artur smiled faintly. "Fair point. Arguments need words."

A soft voice from the window side said, "To tell stories."

Artur’s gaze shifted to the speaker—a quiet girl with ink-stained fingers. He gave her a gentle nod.

He looked at the board again. "We use words to explain, to defend, to love, to lie. They’re how we shape the world—how we say who we are." A pause. "My mother used to say that words are more than sounds. They’re choices."

A few students straightened, attention sharpening.

Artur stepped away from the desk.

A murmur rippled through the room."So today, I want to hear your words. No grammar drills. No red marks. Just this—if the world handed you one blank page, what would you write on it?"

"You can write it down. Don’t worry about mistakes. Just write like someone’s listening."

He walked to the windows, letting them begin. Some reached for their pens immediately. Others sat thinking, tapping pens against their notebooks.

Artur didn’t speak again. He just watched—watched them fumble for their voice, just like he once did.

And in the quiet scratch of pens against paper, something settled inside him.

He didn’t know if he’d stay forever.

But for today, he was exactly where he needed to be—standing where her voice once filled the air.