No one else heard it.
That was the first clue.
In the middle of morning assembly, while the national anthem played and the teachers tried to act like they were in control, he tilted his head.
And smiled.
Because the speaker in the ceiling — the one that always buzzed and crackled — whispered his name.
"Yassin…"
So soft it sounded like a thought someone else was having for him.
He looked around.
No one reacted.
Not even the kids near him.
No one flinched.
No one blinked.
Just him.
Just Yassin.
He thought it was a game.
That night, he waited.
He left his toy walkie-talkie on.
Put the TV on static.
Left a pencil and notebook on the windowsill.
Nothing.
But at exactly 3:03 AM, the TV screen flickered, the pencil rolled off the ledge, and the walkie-talkie crackled to life.
And a voice said:
"Draw it."
In the morning, he didn't remember falling asleep.
But in his notebook, there was a page he didn't recall drawing.
It was a door.
Black.
Tall.
Shaped wrong, like it was bending forward.
No handle.
Just an eye in the middle.
That day at school, everything felt… different.
The hallway echoed like a cave.
The tiles hummed.
And the teacher's voice sounded far away — like a distant broadcast.
He opened his notebook again.
The door was gone.
In its place: a sentence.
"They see who listens."
By the end of the week, he stopped speaking to other kids.
Not because he was scared.
But because they didn't know the rules.
Don't whistle in the library.
Don't use the red chalk.
Don't sit in Desk 4C after 12:30.
And never say your full name out loud after dark.
The voice told him.
And the voice was always right.
One afternoon, during math class, he stood up mid-lesson and walked out.
No one stopped him.
No one even seemed to notice.
He walked to the janitor's closet.
Opened it.
And inside, there was no mop.
No shelves.
Just darkness.
And in the middle of it…
the door he drew.
Real.
Breathing.
Waiting.
He didn't knock.
He just whispered:
"I'm ready to listen."
And stepped through.
They still call his name on the school register.
Still leave his seat empty.
Still say it was "an accident" or "he ran away."
But every now and then,
a student tilts their head during morning assembly.
Smiles.
And hums a song they were never taught.
Because now…
Yassin whispers too.