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The room is lit by a single lamp on the mahogany desk beside neatly stacked papers and a few framed photographs. The air is heavy with the scent of old leather and paper, mingling with a faint hint of my father’s cologne. It’s a smell that brings back memories of my childhood, but today, it feels oppressive. Last time I was here was just over a year ago, when I begged Baba to stop the wedding.
Shelves line the walls, filled with books that look like they haven’t been touched in years. The rich, burgundy area rug muffles my footsteps as I walk further inside, adding to the eerie silence.
I feel like an intruder, as if the walls themselves are watching me, ready to reveal my presence to my father at any moment. A cold sweat forms on my brow as I glance around, trying to steady my nerves. Every corner of this room holds a piece of my baba’s life that I never fully understood, and today, I might uncover secrets that will change everything.
I approach the desk first, opening drawers with trembling hands. Papers rustle softly as I sift through them, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. I move to the cabinets, pulling them open one by one, only to find more mundane office supplies and documents. The sense of dread grows with each passing second, and I have to force myself to keep going.
I search the library next, fingers tracing the spines of the books, hoping to find a hidden compartment or a clue. But it’s just endless volumes of law books and literature.
I search every nook and cranny. Nothing.
Just as I’m about to give up, my foot hits a loose floorboard. The sound it makes is different, hollow. My pulse quickens as I step on it again, testing it, and it gives slightly under my weight. I crouch down, hands shaking, and try to lift it. It doesn’t budge.
But then, for some reason, my eyes are drawn to a framed picture on the wall—a photograph of our family. I move toward it, feeling a strange mix of nostalgia and apprehension. When I pick up the frame, I discover a lever hidden behind it. My heart skips a beat as I pull it, and the sound of a hidden door sliding open fills the room. Holy shit.
The secret closet behind the wall is filled with boxes on various shelves, and I immediately catch sight of one labeled “Sisterhood.” I pull it out and set it on the floor, my hands now steady, no longer trembling. Inside, I find a stack of files.
I scroll through them and find one with a boy’s name on it. Confusion ripples through me. What would a boy be doing there? I thought it was an all-girl school.
With a shaking breath, I pull out my phone and text Angelica.
My best friend calls me right away.
“Hi, Ang. I don’t have much time. I’m in my baba’s office, and I found something I think could be useful to you,” I whisper, barely able to get the words out for fear of being overheard.
My eyes dart around the room, checking the door to ensure it’s still closed.
“Oh my God. Get out of there before you get caught.”
“I will, but I can’t take these files with me. He’ll know someone was in here. I’ll take photos of everything, but have you ever heard of someone named Atlas?”
“No. Who is it?”
“I don’t know, but apparently he was raised at the Sisterhood during the time you were there.”
“It’s an all-girl institution. I doubt they had a boy enrolled there,” Angelica states, her confusion evident.
“Well, there’s a full file on him, but some of the information has been blacked out—his birth parents, last name, and location of birth. The only personal detail I have is that, if he’s still alive, he’ll be twenty-eight years old now.”
As I’m scanning the contents of the file, I land on a photo of a little boy. A chill runs down my spine and I go silent. I feel like I’ve seen him before, but I can’t quite place where or when.
“Aria, what’s wrong?”
“Oh. Sorry, I just saw his picture and he is…strikingly familiar,” I murmur, unease in my tone.
“Have you seen him before?”
“I haven’t, but he looks like someone I know—he has the craziest eyes.”
“We don’t have time to go over his appearance. You need to get out of there!” Angelica exclaims. She’s right. I need to leave before I’m caught.
“I’ll send you a picture of his file in a few seconds,” I say, and we hang up.
My fingers linger on the photo for a moment before slipping it back into the folder. With one last glance at the box, I place it back on the shelf, making sure everything looks undisturbed. Then, I make my way to the door.
I slip out into the quiet hallway, my heart still racing as I walk away, the enormity of what I’ve found sinking in.
The discovery of the boy’s presence at the school adds another layer of mystery to this already tangled web. And my father’s involvement seems to go deeper than I expected.
