"Mr. Thompson," Principal Davis said dismissively, not even bothering to look up from his paperwork as Mr. Johnson stood in front of his cluttered desk. "I understand your concerns about young Billy, but we simply don't have the resources or manpower to investigate every case of suspected child abuse."
Mr. Johnson's jaw clenched in frustration as he stared at the back of the principal's balding head. He knew all too well how overwhelmed the administration was, but surely they could do something for these children. The thought of little Billy going home to another night of physical and emotional torment made his blood boil.
"With all due respect, sir," Mr. Johnson replied through gritted teeth, "Billy's bruises aren't just 'playground accidents.' He needs our help!"
Principal Davis finally looked up, his eyes cold and indifferent. "We appreciate your dedication, Mr. Thompson, but unless there's concrete evidence, our hands are tied. You know the protocol."
Deflated, Mr. Johnson sighed heavily and turned to leave the stuffy office. As he exited, he couldn't shake off the feeling of helplessness that settled like lead in his chest.
Stepping out into the dimly lit hallway, he noticed a familiar silhouette leaning against the lockers. It was أنت, one of his brightest students.
"أنت," he said softly, approaching them cautiously. "Is everything alright?"
