The last bell rang, its sharp tone signaling the end of the classes. My classmates began gathering their belongings, chatter filling the room. I stood, pushing back my bench, and raised my voice over the noise.
"Excuse me, ma'am," I said, addressing our teacher. "Could I have a moment with the class? There's something important I need to talk about."
The teacher paused, her eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. "Go ahead, Ashan. " She left the room, and I moved to the front, all eyes slowly turning toward me.
Clearing my throat, I addressed the class. "Everyone, please stay in your seats for just five minutes. I promise this won't take long, but it's important."
The room fell silent, a ripple of unease and curiosity sweeping through the group. They sat back down, exchanging glances. I turned to my laptop, connecting it to the projector. The whiteboard lit up with the first slide.
Slide 1: Metadata – The Digital Footprint
I stepped to the side, gesturing to the screen. "Today, I want to talk about something called metadata. Metadata is like the DNA of any digital file—photos, videos, or documents. Every photo you take or share carries hidden information, such as the time it was taken, the device used, and sometimes even the location."
I clicked to the next slide, showing an example of metadata from a random photo. "This is what metadata looks like. It's a collection of details embedded in every file. Whether you upload a picture to social media, share it on WhatsApp, or save it to your device, the metadata stays intact. And here's the kicker—it can be traced back to you."
I paused, letting my words sink in. "Think of it this way: every photo you take or upload leaves a trail. It's not just about privacy—it's about accountability. And this metadata can be used to uncover the truth, just like in the case I'm about to discuss."
Slide 2: The Rumored Photo
The next slide displayed a photo of the motels parking lot. "Let's talk about the photo that's been circulating recently—the one causing all the rumors. At first glance, it looks believable. But if you take a closer look, you'll notice inconsistencies."
I highlighted the distorted edges around the figures in the photo. "These distortions are a sign of editing. The photo was manipulated and edited to make it appear as though Rena was meeting with a much older men."
The slide on metadata faded from the projector, and I paused, scanning the faces of my classmates. The tension in the room was palpable, the silence broken only by the faint hum of the projector.
"Now," I continued, "let's take this one step further. Using the metadata from the edited photo, I was able to trace the IP address of the device that created it. Interestingly, the last known location of this IP address was... right here." I gestured to the floor. "In this classroom."
A murmur rippled through the room, the weight of my words settling like a heavy cloud.
"But that's not all," I said, clicking to the next slide. "The metadata also provided the device model—a Realme Narzo 70 5G .
I turned to the class, softening my tone. "Now, I want to make this clear: this isn't about accusing anyone. It's about finding the truth. So, here's what we'll do. If everyone could kindly show their phones, we can narrow this down. It's just a process of elimination. No one is being singled out."
My classmates hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances. "Please don't worry," I reassured them. "This isn't about blame—it's about clarity."
I nodded toward Jee and a few of my closer friends. "Can you help me check each row? Just note down who has the same phone model. We'll handle this together."
Jee and the others moved through the rows, glancing at phones while the rest of the class watched, some nervously clutching their devices. After a few minutes, they returned, their expressions serious.
"There are three," Jee said quietly, handing me the list. "Two girls and one guy."
I scanned the names, whispering to myself, "Good. Thank God there's more than one."
The relief in my voice was real. A single match would've made it too easy. This way, i can continue with the plan.
I turned back to the class, smiling gently at the three students whose names were called. "Alright, no need to worry," I said. "This is just part of the process. We don't think you did anything wrong—we're just following the evidence. I'd like to ask you a few quick questions, and then we'll move on."
The three of them—two girls and one boy—shifted uneasily in their seats. I gestured for them to stand. "This won't take long. First, let's talk about last Thursday. The metadata shows the photo was taken after class that day. Can you tell us what you were doing at that time?"
The first girl Neha, a quiet and studious type, adjusted her glasses nervously. "I-I was in the library," she stammered. "I had a project due, and I was there until late. You can ask the librarian—she saw me."
The boy Kunal, who was known for his easygoing nature, shrugged. "I was with the basketball team. We had practice right after school. A bunch of us were there—you can check with them."
The second girl, Isha, hesitated. Her eyes darted around the room as she forced a smile. "I... I think I was... at home. Yeah, I went straight home after class. I wasn't feeling well that day."
Her response hung in the air, the tension thickening. I nodded, keeping my expression neutral.
"Thank you for your answers," I said calmly. "And don't worry—we'll confirm everything as we go along."
I stepped back to my laptop, the next slide showing a blurred image taken from the parking lot's CCTV footage. The quality wasn't great, but the faint outline of a figure could be made out.
"This," I said, pointing to the screen, "is footage from the CCTV near the parking lot. While it's not perfectly clear, it shows someone taking a photo, and the elderly man in front is with a different woman, suggesting that Rena was digitally inserted into the image. The only detail visible with clarity is the color of the clothes the culprit was wearing."
I glanced at the class, scanning their reactions, then shifted my gaze to Isha . She remained quiet, her hands clenched into fists on the desk.
"But let's not jump to conclusions yet," I said, as if to reassure everyone. "It's hard to determine anything definite from a blurry image. So, for now, we'll just keep this in mind."
I clicked to the next slide, the projector displaying a screenshot of the edited photo that had circulated. "Next, let's talk about how the photo was created. Using software, I was able to trace the manipulation techniques used. For example, the shadows don't align naturally with the light source. It's subtle, but it's a giveaway that the photo was tampered with."
"Now," I continued, "I went a step further and looked at the metadata from the edited photo itself. Interestingly, the editing software used matches one commonly found on Realme devices." I paused for effect, pretending to move on quickly.
"Anyway, let's return to the timeline of events. Thursday after class. Library, basketball practice, and… home." I turned to Isha with a soft smile. "You said you went home because you weren't feeling well, right?"
She nodded quickly, her voice trembling slightly. "Yes. I left right after class."
"That's fair," I said, keeping my tone light. "But just to clarify—did anyone see you leaving school that day?"
She froze, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out.
Before she could stammer out a response, I turned back to the projector. "Actually, we can double-check that." I clicked to another slide, revealing an attendance log from the library. "We know one of our classmates was here." I looked at the first girl. "And I'm sure the basketball team can confirm the boy's alibi." I glanced at the boy, who nodded confidently.
"As for Isha ," I said, my tone softening again, "if you don't mind, I'd like to confirm your story as well. It'll help clear things up."
Isha fidgeted in her seat. "Uh, no one saw me, but... I'm sure my parents can confirm I was home."
"Of course," I said with a reassuring nod. "That's helpful. But just to be thorough, let's double-check something else."
I clicked to another slide, showing a blown-up section of the blurry CCTV image. "This may not be conclusive," I admitted, "but the outline of the figure seems to show someone with a similar build to…" I trailed off, letting the class murmur in suspense.
Isha 's breath hitched audibly.
"But again," I added quickly, "that's not enough to go on. Let's focus on something more tangible."
I pulled out my phone, holding it up for the class to see. "The WhatsApp chat logs. These are screenshots of the photo being circulated. By following the chain of messages and asking people about it, I traced it back to its origin."
Isha 's face went pale. She shifted in her seat, but I didn't look at her directly. I let the class absorb the weight of my words.
"And," I continued, pulling up another slide, "the first person to share the photo… was a guy from commerce department whom you are friends with."