The Shades of Spring

Voldemort comes to Wisdom

"That's the entire problem, Miss Sidra...no one takes me seriously."

"I do," the teacher declared, but a mischievous gleam in her eyes made Aziz think she was taking him for a joke. "But I can't exactly vouch for you if I can't see the other head..."

'There,' the boy thought. 'The big fat trust.'
"That's because," he rolled his eyes in poor imitation of the adults in his life, "my hair is over it right now."

Sidra gave it her all to hold back the laughter that threatened to ruin the moment of confidence. In a different part of her mind though, she was immensely enjoying the tale.
"Alright, Azizee, I'll believe you for now. I have a class to go to, why don't you show me it some other time?"

"Okay," he drawled. It no longer mattered to him if his teacher did or did not buy his tale, due to the fact that, the head spoke only to him. The second Aziz, or Reverse Head as he liked to call it, whispered naughty things to him from time to time; kick Corren, throw Bobby's book, throw away your lunch, drown that kitten. Exactly like the head behind that teacher's head in Harry Potter did.

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Thus continued reports of evil whispers from Reverse Head echoing in good boy Aziz's mind, as he claimed. Guilty for sort of encouraging him to spin more tales for his teacher to hear every day, Sidra tried to gently address it with him. In the middle of one such heated discussion, Sidra pointed out the absence of a nose sticking out.

"That's because the barber cut it off!" Tears welled up in the child's eyes, "And that is why I kicked his supplies. My head told me to!"

"Okay okay," she rushed in to calm him, "Let's talk about this later, okay..?"
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Aziz was giving a terrible fright to his faint hearted friends, about horrible suggestions of his Reverse Head that Aziz inadvertantly carried out in the end. He claimed to have drowned at least three kittens, reported low whispers in the middle of the night and described a compulsion to bite and scream at the barber who had cut off the phantom's nose.

At first, Sidra directly told the children to not believe in such stories, chided Aziz and banned all nonsensical talk in the classroom. She forgot where there is a will there is always a way; thus, a cult was born in the school playground where like minded children gathered to swap stories of their own Reverse Heads.
It wasn't until concerned parents began calling the school and demanding an explanation to their children's recent behaviour that Sidra discovered how severe the problem was; infecting most of the primary school.

Things got serious a fortnight after Aziz's nose snipping tale went public; children started to shudder and burst out in tears in the middle of class, complaining of harsh whispers coming from the back of their heads.
Primary teachers were rushed into a meeting after a tedious day of pacifying and calming down some hysteric children, to address the issue.

The Chairman was infuriated and demanded an explanation. All eyes turned on Sidra whose class had the most reports of hysteric boys. It was killing her that she couldn't safely own up it was mostly her fault the primary school was suffering. The Principal, whose good graces Sidra had earned through her handling of Hammad, was quick to vouch for the teacher; appointing her to spearhead the inquiry.
Oh, talk about irony!
That whole day, one word echoed in Sidra's head. Hypocrite.
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Books spread wide open on her desk, staring up at the teacher who was an inch from a total breakdown. All her suffering for Hammad was nothing compared to the stress and tension she endured now without the liberty of seeking help from seasoned teachers. At school, she was the prestigious crisis manager surrounded by teachers willing to execute her every order with no argument; yet she stood alone in the crowd. Everyone looked up to her and she had no one to look up to. Unhealthy fame from Hammad made even the school shrink subservient to her.

For the first time in her service, Sidra dragged herself unwillingly to school on a beautiful Thursday morning. The spring bloom outside the building was a huge contrast to the ugly gray cobwebs draped in thick folds over her heart.

Her gaze was fixated on a strangely subdued Aziz, no doubt, disheartened by how far his stories have wrought trouble. She tried again to find an approach to the issue which did not involve bawling her eyes out and begging the children to stop.
A small hand tugged at her arm twice before she completely regained her senses, and a smile made its way to her face upon seeing Hammad.
He was taller, too.

Hammad greeted his beloved teacher and inquired why she was missing that full smile she always gave him. She answered vaguely and questioned what brought him to her, to which he handed her an envelope. Her befuddlement was momentarily forgotten till she read the card within and turned her delighted eyes on the shy boy grinning from ear to ear.
"Maths and Art? Amazing! Come let me shake your hand!"

They shook hands and he thanked her in his childish words that carried a subtle undertone of maturity. Sooner though, her mind recalled her present problem, extinguishing the most of the light in her eyes.
Hammad observed the woman before him whose mind was clearly preoccupied with something; it hurt a little that her excitement hadn't lasted as long as he hoped. He pushed away the thought, heroically calling to memory the million times she had made him feel okay and resolved to lift the burden from her. If actions failed, had Sidra known his intention, that alone would have cured her loss of appetite.
"Can I ask you something?" he timidly ventured to ask her. When his teacher nodded, Hammad rehearsed his words a moment before speaking them.

"Miss, I know a doctor uncle who can stop Aziz's whisper. Someone used to tell me nasty things too, maybe we can bring him here?"

To say she was shocked by the child's deduction would be an understatement. Her sight anchored on him and she hurried, inconspicuously, to thank Hammad before another rumour started.
"That's a lovely idea. Say, let this be our secret. Now tell me, champ, what do you want for your great achievement?"

A shy smile crept up his face, "Miss, if it's okay, can you come instead of my father for the ceremony?"
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She couldn't get two things out of her mind. The Aziz Catastrophe and Hammad's invitation. Also this new Hulk in the library; alright, let's make it three.

She hated how sour the year had turned so quickly since its commencement. So many unanswered questions. By the time Saturday night came around Sidra only had enough energy to pull herself to bed.
The night was silent and cool with a touch of crispness, making it almost too beautiful to sleep. So she lay awake after her prayers, adding final touches to a project Hamza had to submit on Monday. A part of her wondered what kind of teacher it took to boldly assign children projects based on mental illnesses. Whoever they were, Sidra gave them a virtual salute.
Hamza's project discussed Bulimia, an eating disorder rooted in stress and depression. Having been the one to help him through his project all week, she found she knew most or all of what had been penned between the covers. Still, it intrigued her. Hence, after doing a satisfactory job with it, she surfed the web for summaries on various other mental disorders.

Depression, anorexia, bulimia....the list went on. On a whim, she typed schizophrenia in the search bar and scanned the various articles. The night slipped away and she was still awake, immersed in reading the confessions and medical guidelines, the most famous cases and symptoms. Sidra remembered Hammad's words and wondered how far he had actually been correct unknown to his own self. She replayed all the memories involving Aziz and his stories; his body language, the desperation in his voice, the tears when he wasn't taken seriously and the truthfulness of his narrations...
A stale taste filled her mouth when little by little she was convinced that she had seen most of the symptoms in him and carelessly disregarded them as a wild imagination.

But diagnosing a child with schizophrenia wasn't her job. If she was right, his parents should have by all means established the truth first.

A burning ember sizzled when it fell upon the cold floor of her blood vessels, lighting within her a painful mixture of fear, anxiety and uncertainty. For the moment, she decided to think it through thoroughly and make a few calls to acquaintances working in the field. If her fears were proved, this could be bigger news than Wisdom had ever seen.

But to prove or disprove her overnight theory, she needed to call in professional help; without involving the school, his parents or the crisis committee.