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@aryakjs19_: Mati listrik gawe bahan Sw mu lurr🥱#klebus #klebusngatmobilung #klebusguyonwaton

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Tuesday 11 October 2022 12:40:32 GMT
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🩵🩵💛#fyp __________________________________ Nastya had always been proud of her memory. She could recall dates, faces, even random phrases people said in passing. But one day, she encountered something her mind could not hold onto. It started in the middle of the school year. That morning, she walked into her classroom and immediately sensed something was wrong. One of the desks was empty. She blinked. — Where… is Katya? — she asked. Her classmates looked at her in confusion. — Who’s Katya? Nastya frowned. — Katya Petrova! She sat right next to me! Her friends exchanged puzzled glances. — Nastya, what are you talking about? There was never a Katya Petrova in our class. She froze. Was this some kind of joke? She pulled out her phone, scrolled through her gallery… But there was not a single picture of Katya. No messages. No contacts. As if she had never existed. Traces of the Past After school, Nastya went to the library. She knew Katya was real. They had talked, laughed, and shared secrets. She searched through old school records. Flipped through the pages. And… Katya’s name wasn’t there. Her hands trembled as she reached for the old yearbook. Her heart pounded. She turned to the class photo. And where Katya should have been… There was only empty space. Like someone had cut her out of the picture. A shiver ran down Nastya’s spine. Someone had erased her from reality. The Classroom That Takes The next day, Nastya went to school with a single thought: she had to find out the truth. She remembered the old, abandoned classroom at the end of the hallway—Room 31. There were rumors about it. They said that if a student entered after the final bell, they would disappear. And no one would remember them. Like Katya. Nastya waited until evening. When the school was empty, she crept down the dark corridors. Room 31 was open. Inside, rows of old desks stood untouched. The air smelled stale. And on one of the desks… She saw a name, scratched deep into the wood.
🩵🩵💛#fyp __________________________________ Nastya had always been proud of her memory. She could recall dates, faces, even random phrases people said in passing. But one day, she encountered something her mind could not hold onto. It started in the middle of the school year. That morning, she walked into her classroom and immediately sensed something was wrong. One of the desks was empty. She blinked. — Where… is Katya? — she asked. Her classmates looked at her in confusion. — Who’s Katya? Nastya frowned. — Katya Petrova! She sat right next to me! Her friends exchanged puzzled glances. — Nastya, what are you talking about? There was never a Katya Petrova in our class. She froze. Was this some kind of joke? She pulled out her phone, scrolled through her gallery… But there was not a single picture of Katya. No messages. No contacts. As if she had never existed. Traces of the Past After school, Nastya went to the library. She knew Katya was real. They had talked, laughed, and shared secrets. She searched through old school records. Flipped through the pages. And… Katya’s name wasn’t there. Her hands trembled as she reached for the old yearbook. Her heart pounded. She turned to the class photo. And where Katya should have been… There was only empty space. Like someone had cut her out of the picture. A shiver ran down Nastya’s spine. Someone had erased her from reality. The Classroom That Takes The next day, Nastya went to school with a single thought: she had to find out the truth. She remembered the old, abandoned classroom at the end of the hallway—Room 31. There were rumors about it. They said that if a student entered after the final bell, they would disappear. And no one would remember them. Like Katya. Nastya waited until evening. When the school was empty, she crept down the dark corridors. Room 31 was open. Inside, rows of old desks stood untouched. The air smelled stale. And on one of the desks… She saw a name, scratched deep into the wood. "Katya Petrova" Her fingers traced the letters. And at that moment… The door behind her slammed shut. The Forgotten Nastya lunged for the door, yanking the handle—locked! Behind her, she heard a rustling sound. She turned slowly. The classroom had changed. Now it was full of students. But their faces were blurred. As if their memories had been wiped away. — Don’t forget me… — someone whispered. Nastya gasped. Standing in front of her was Katya. But her skin was pale, and her eyes empty. — You… you remember me? — Katya asked. Nastya staggered back. — Y-yes! Of course, I do! Katya smiled. — Then you must stay. Nastya felt something cold wrap around her wrist. Whispers filled the air. Forgotten students reached for her, pulling her down. She screamed, struggled, crashed into a desk— And fell. The Vanishing She woke up in an empty classroom. Sunlight streamed through the dusty windows. Nastya gasped for air. She had escaped. But something was wrong. She ran down the hallway, passing classrooms. No one looked at her. Not the teachers. Not her classmates. Even in the mirror, her reflection wasn’t there. Only emptiness. And on her desk… A new name was scratched into the wood. Nastya Smirnova. And no one remembered her. Lost Forever Days passed. No one noticed her. She sat in class, listened to lessons, but no one saw her. She spoke, screamed, but no one heard her. She was a shadow, trapped between existence and oblivion. Then one day, a boy hesitated at her desk. His eyes scanned the room, then landed on her empty seat. — Wasn’t… there someone here? — he murmured. Nastya’s breath caught in her throat. His fingers reached out, tracing the name scratched into the wood. "Nastya Smirnova." At that moment, a door creaked open. Down the hallway. Room 31. And inside… A new desk appeared. Waiting for its next occupant.


Not one note was hit I’m not good at anything why do you care?? 🤣
Not one note was hit I’m not good at anything why do you care?? 🤣


#توله #پرچم_وطنم_افغانستان #آهنگ #زنگ #تماس
#توله #پرچم_وطنم_افغانستان #آهنگ #زنگ #تماس


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