Chapter 153: The Passport To The Past

Lara jerked back to the present, her breath catching like she’d been underwater too long.

Her hands were trembling. Her chest tight.

The classroom photo blurred in her vision.

“…that wasn’t…” she started, then stopped.

Her voice came out smaller than she expected.

“…that wasn’t normal.”

No child should sit that still.

But it made sense.

“…I learned not to move,” she whispered.

Because in that forest, moving meant being seen.

And being seen— meant dying.

…

She looked at the photo book in her hand. She flipped faster now.

She flipped again.

She was in grade two.

It was a group activity. Children gathered in clusters, laughing, leaning into each other, messy and loud.

And then, there she was at the edge.

She was not included, and they were intentional.

Her classmates treated her like furniture, like a background.

Lara’s chest tightened.

Why didn’t anyone call me over? The question came automatically.

Did I do something wrong?

And that’s when it hit her—

That wasn’t her current thought.

That was hers back then. The echo of it. The question she must have asked. Over and over.

Lara sucked in a breath.

“No,” she muttered quickly, shaking her head. “It was me. I did not want to join them.”

…

She turned the page.

Grade Three.

The photograph was sun-bleached at the edges, its colors slightly faded—but the moment it captured was anything but soft.

A schoolyard — wide, open and unforgiving.

The sun hung high overhead, merciless in its brightness. Shadows were short, sharp—cut clean beneath the children’s feet like they had nowhere to hide.

A group of students stood arranged in loose formation, their uniforms neat, their faces lifted toward the camera.

Their faces were different from Grade 2. The setting was different too.

It should be a different school.

She had already learned, even then, that staying in one place never lasted.

Her gaze settled on the smallest figure near the front.

Herself.

Tiny compared to the others. Shoulders drawn inward. Hands clenched tightly at her sides, as if holding herself together required effort.

Even frozen in time, the image carried it unmistakably— the fear. It wasn’t loud or obvious, but it was there.

Woven into the way she stood. The way she occupied space as if she didn’t quite have the right to it.

And behind her—a boy. Caught mid-laugh. His mouth wide open, eyes bright with something ugly— not joy, not playfulness, but cruelty.

The kind that didn’t end when the laughter stopped. The kind that lingered and echoed long after the moment passed. The kind that followed you home… and waited for you in your dreams.

The memory surfaced slowly. Then all at once.

The loud laughter. It rang in her ears, sharp and overwhelming, like something breaking inside her skull.

“Go on, it’s over there!”

“Don’t be scared!”

“Are you stupid or what?”

She was blindfolded.

Voices circled her. Pressured her. Guiding her.

Like she was something to be led straight into a spectacle.

Her younger self had paused. Just for a second.

Because before her eyes were covered, she saw it.

Leaves scattered unnaturally, and the grass too carefully placed.

A mound that didn’t belong. A trap.

For others, it was undetected.

But to Lara, it was too obvious. A sloppy and childish work.

Lara stepped forward.

Her right foot hovered over the mound for a few seconds.

Her classmates held their breath in anticipation.

Then, Lara stepped over it without hesitation. It was a clean pass. The mound, the leaves, and the grass remained untouched.

Because even before she was seven, she already knew how to build traps far more intricate than that.

The laughter faltered, giving way to confusion.

Then—a shift.

Footsteps followed behind her.

They were light and careless.

And then—

Squish!

The scream that followed shattered the yard.

It was high-pitched and horrified.

“My shoes! My shoes!”

Lara need not turn to know what happened.

The girl stood there—she who was perfect, polished, and adored turned beet red from shame.

The principal’s daughter, the class muse — her white sneakers now soaked in thick, brown filth, the stench rising immediately in the late morning breeze.

Her face twisted, not just in disgust, but also fury.

And then, just as quickly, she started her accusation.

“She did it!”

A trembling finger pointed straight at Lara.

“She tricked me! She knew it was there!”

The lie came effortlessly.

And the others, they did not hesitate. They followed the cue.

Voices stacking over voices until truth was buried beneath the noise.

“She told her to go there!”

“I saw it!”

“She planned it!”

Lara stood still and was silent. Because explanations didn’t matter. They never did.

As always, the punishment came swiftly.

“Apologize by cleaning her shoes.”

And Lara did.

She scrubbed the sneakers while the others watched, whispering, snickering, enjoying the show.

Brown stains smeared across her hands.

And on her skirt.

By the time she finished, she was dirtier than the one who stepped into the trap.

Then, they were called over for a class photo.

Click.

The camera captured the moment.

A frozen frame of innocence on the surface—

But behind her, the boys leaned together, grinning, eyes gleaming with quiet triumph and mockery.

They had gotten what they wanted.

Not the trap. Not the prank. But her humiliation.

The class hated her. Lara learned that early.

Not because she was loud. Not because she caused trouble.

But because she was new—and still, she kept getting everything right. Every quiz, every recitation…

Every question the teachers threw out just to see who would break first.

She never did!

She answered too fast. Too precise. Too certain.

Sometimes, even the teachers would pause—just for a second—before nodding, like they hadn’t expected it from her.

That was enough to turn heads and start whispers.

Enough to make her a problem.

She noticed the way the room shifted whenever she raised her hand.

The sighs. The eye rolls.

The quiet mutters of “Of course it’s her again.”

So she tried to shrink, tried to stay quiet, but it didn’t matter.

Even when she said nothing, they still looked at her like she had already done something wrong.

Like her existence was an offense.

Lara stared at the photo, her chest tightening.

“…I should’ve known better.”

The thought came easily.

Her fingers curled slightly against the page.

If she had just been slower, if she had just been less—

Maybe they wouldn’t have looked at her like that.

Maybe they wouldn’t have—

Her jaw tightened.

A familiar conclusion slid into place.

Of course, they hated her and they wanted her to regret coming to their school.

Lara blinked.

The photograph lowered slightly in her hand as the present crept back in—the silence of her room, the stillness, the distance from that sunlit yard.

But the feeling didn’t leave.

It lingered. Heavy and clinging.

Like something that had never really washed off.

Hot and humiliating.

Like being reduced to something less than human.

Her nails dug into the page.

“…they were laughing at me.”

Not a question this time.

A realization.

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