Naina had expected this to be difficult to get. It came out with the ease of something that had been under pressure for a long time and had found the first person worth releasing to. "Three weeks," she said. "So before the leave was announced at school."
"She came home one evening. Something had happened at work. She was very upset. She said she had found out something about the school — something serious. She said she had to do something about it and she wasn't sure how yet." Priti stopped. She looked at her tea. "She said the less I knew the better, which scared me more than anything specific would have." Her hands tightened around the cup. "Then three days later she was gone. Most of her things were there — she took a bag, some clothes, her laptop. But her books were there. She left a note."
"What did it say?"
Priti stood up. She came back with a piece of paper — folded, handled many times, the fold lines soft from being opened and closed. "I've read it every day for three weeks," she said.
Naina opened it carefully. The handwriting was the same careful hand that had written the lesson plan — controlled, precise.
The note said:
Priti — I'm sorry to do this without explaining. I can't explain right now because explaining would make it worse. I need you to know I'm safe and that I haven't done anything wrong. What's happening at school is wrong — not me. If anyone from the school asks you where I am, tell them you don't know, which is true. If anyone who seems official asks, call my sister first. I will be in touch when I can. Don't worry. I love you. — K
Naina read it twice. Then folded it carefully and handed it back. "Has she been in touch?"
