The stairwell was usually dim, perhaps deliberately so. The windowless stairwell encased by walls on all four sides, illuminated by the faint glow of florescent lights spotted at the top of each flight – save for the last one.

No one ever came here. Especially to this floor. It was evident by the layer of dust that had begun to build on the surface of the worn-out desks, haphazardly discarded here, on the topmost landing.

It was a chore just to shuffle through the clutter. In a way, that too must have been deliberate.

A small path had been opened, just wide enough to squeeze through. It was hard to navigate in the dark, but if you kept your body pushed up against the wall, all you had to do was walk forward.

At the end, the piled-up desks had been pushed out the way just enough. Revealing a door.

The door cracked open with just the turn of the doorknob, the broken lock failing to deny access. It opened ever slightly, before hitting the leg of a desk. And yet, just enough.

Light rushed into the dim stairwell, along with the fresh smell of the outdoor air. A stark contradiction to the dark, closed-off stairwell.

Past the door was an open sky of light blue. The roof, surrounded by a tall metal fence.

There was a slight breeze, just enough to ruffle the hair. It felt cool against the skin, as if finally beginning to feel like autumn.

No one ever came up here. In fact, no one was even allowed to be up here in the first place. It was by chance that I had found a way up here, one day while wandering the halls. And it was by chance that, out of the only two roof accesses, I had picked the one with a broken lock.

And yet, in this empty roof enclosed by fences, I was not alone.

Above me, on the top of the stair house, like a perched bird that stood out against the blue of the sky and the pale grey of the roof.

There she was.

She was standing up straight, as if waiting. As if anticipating my arrival. As if she had known I would show up.

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Her short, black hair fluttered in the wind, even more so than her loose jacket. Her head was slightly tilted at an angle, as her light brown eyes looked down at me.

Her aura was so mysterious. That girl who I knew only by name.

I had never seen her around school. Not during the entrance ceremony, nor in any class, nor passing by in the halls. And yet, whenever I came here, no matter the time, day, or weather, there she was. Always standing on the top of that stair house. Her hair always suspended in a never-ending breeze, as if captivated by the wind. Those squinted brown eyes, always staring back at me.

She was an enigma, in every sense of the word.

“So you’ve come.”

She spoke softly, if but bluntly, as if the wind carried her words down to me.

“What is it that you seek?”

It was difficult to understand – the strange sensation that overcame me every time I saw her.

She was beautiful. But it was not her beauty that left me at a loss for words. Maybe it was her stone-cold expression, that never seemed to betray emotions. Or perhaps the way her narrow eyes gazed at me. Their soft brown color, that seemed to contradict her ever stoic expression.

Regardless of what it was, I had come because I needed to ask her something. At times like these, she was the only one I knew to turn to. And yet, in saying times like these, nothing like this had ever occurred.

“Did you hear? The rumors have started to spread.”

“There are many rumors,” she replied, “Of which do you speak?”

“This morning… outside the train station…”

She closed her eyes, as she thought about it. And yet, she seemed to briefly lose herself in that thought.

Her hand moved toward her face and she slightly adjusted her pose as if to say something. Only to remain silent, as her hand fell back to her side.

Another brief moment…

“You mean the girl?”

My body shook, just to recall that scene. So heavy an impact that scene had left. So strong an image it had burned into my mind.

“Yes… the one hanging from the powerlines.”

Even now, I hadn’t been able to get that image out of my mind. I tried and tried. And yet it seemed the more I tried, the more vivid the image became.

“There’s nothing I can tell you,” she said, “I’m sure even the police don’t know much.”

She paused, as she contemplated it further.

“That strange way in which she died… could it have been an accident… a suicide… or perhaps, a murder?”

She spoke in pauses, under her breath. As if speaking indirectly. Merely thinking out loud.

But that word stuck out at me.

Murder.

For as horrifying as what the word entailed, it begged to question, how, and more so, why would someone commit such a cruel and twisted murder?

“Do you know who she was?”

She shook her head. “As I said, there is little I know. Her hair obscured her face, even the media was unable to capture her face. How then can a name be put to the body?”

She paused, once again moving her hand to her face. “It was the police that took her body down and carried it off. Even they should take a while to identify the body. And even if they already have, they have yet to make any public statement.”

She leaned over, further toward me, from up there. That cold expression, the gaze of her eyes.

“All I can tell you is this… that uniform she wore, belonged to our school.”