Chapter 1 - “The Last Bench Boy”
After a long pause brought by the pandemic, schools were finally reopening.
"I can't wait to go back!" Jyoti said excitedly over the phone.
Amrita smiled, though her voice remained calm. "Yeah, it’s been a while. But honestly, I’m not as thrilled. I keep thinking about the pressure to perform better than everyone else in the finals."
"Coming, Mom! I’m ready!" Amrita called out, then added to Jyoti, "I'll see you at school. Take care."
"How many times do I need to tell you? I don’t like you making friends and wasting time gossiping on the phone," her mother scolded.
"But Mom, Jyoti is nice. She scores well in almost every subject. And we weren’t gossiping, she just called me after three months!" Amrita snapped. "Anyway, I’m going to study now!"
She stormed off, heart pounding. Amrita knew her mother didn’t like her talking to classmates, but Jyoti was different. She always checked in on her and genuinely cared. A good student, yes—but an even more dedicated gossiper. She made it a point to call not just Amrita but others from her old school too.
And Amrita? She wasn’t much for sharing, but she loved to collect stories. She soaked in everyone’s secrets like pages in a diary, locked tight but never forgotten.
"Two more days till school. Have you arranged your things?" her mother asked.
"Yes, I have," Amrita replied softly.
"It’s your final year. I want you to give it your all. No one in our family has ever scored below a 9.5 CGPA. Stay focused. No distractions. No friendships. No more phone calls."
Amrita nodded with a quiet "okay," her voice trembling slightly, her emotions tucked behind silence.
Despite the strictness, Amrita had always been a bright student—top three in her class every year. She also had a gift for public speaking. Her voice was bold, confident, and had earned her first place in school debates more than once.
She remembered one time when the school microphone wasn’t working and she was asked to lead the entire morning assembly. That day, her friends teased her by calling her a “loudspeaker,” but she had simply laughed. She knew how to take a joke.
Aside from public speaking, Amrita had a deep love for literature. She read everything—from romance to philosophy, horror to drama. Stories gave her space to breathe, and maybe, to belong.
Talking about her appearance, Amrita was tall, slender, and had a dusky skin tone. Her hair framed her shoulders with an effortless charm. She wasn’t the kind of girl who turned heads in a crowded room — not the type whose beauty shouted. Hers whispered. You wouldn’t notice her at first glance, but if you ever listened closely — to her words, her laugh, her silences — you’d be drawn in.
She was beautiful in the way she carried herself, in the way she made others feel seen, and in the quiet strength she never named. She was beautiful in her own way.
She was confident — or at least she looked it. She’d laugh at the dumbest joke like it was the funniest thing on Earth. She was brave, bold, and delightfully chaotic. The kind of girl you remembered without knowing why.
But here’s the thing about Amrita.
When the lights went off and the nights turned quiet, she would often question her worth. A hollow space lived inside her — like a door sealed shut, waiting for someone to find the key. Behind it was another Amrita — not so brave, not so bold, not so sure.
There lived a small girl, scared of being seen too clearly, judged too quickly, or left too easily. Scared of being alone in a world that only clapped for perfection.
She had a habit of writing letters to no one — and everyone — as if someone, somewhere, might someday read them and understand. And in those letters, she poured the parts of her she never let show. The insecure girl who worried her laugh was too loud, her dreams too fragile, her skin too dark, her love too deep.
The world saw a confident girl who carried sunlight in her smile. But only she knew the weight of the storm inside her.
She was the kind of magic you didn’t see coming — the kind that wasn’t always soft, but always sincere. And like most magic, she went unnoticed… until she changed everything.
She never let anyone see that side of hers — the side that looked shattered, scared, and stuck in her own world. But if you ever did — you’d never forget it.
Finally, the wait was over — the day school reopened had arrived.
Morning sunlight filtered through the window, casting golden patterns across the floor. Amrita stood in front of the mirror, struggling to tie up her short hair. She paused and looked at her reflection — thick eyebrows, a small nose, thin lips, and eyes. The face looked so full of life, but her eyes… they felt hollow. As if something, some part of her, had been lost — or perhaps had never been found.
She reached school on time. Whispers floated through the corridors, laughter echoed faintly, and masked kids roamed the halls like half-visible ghosts. As she walked past her old classroom, she noticed a few boys standing at the door. Somehow, the doorway looked taller than she remembered — or maybe it was just the nerves. She moved ahead toward another section and found that more than half the classroom was filled with boys. That wasn’t normal — at her school, boys’ and girls’ sections were always kept separate.
There, on the first bench, she spotted Kayra, hunched over her notebook. A wave of excitement and nervousness crashed over Amrita, and before she could stop herself, she hugged her. Kayra explained that due to low student turnout, the boys’ and girls’ sections were being merged for the year — and Amrita’s name had ended up in a different class.
So Amrita walked to her new class, alone.
There she found Jyoti and a few familiar faces. Jyoti began chatting about the new classmates, especially about the boys since her brother was in the same section.
“They’re so undisciplined,” she muttered. “They just sit around laughing and making fun of teachers. And that boy who used to top the boys’ section — what was his name again? Aarush! He’s so weird.”
“Wait, what? Aarush is in our section? The Aarush teachers wouldn’t stop praising? The one who topped Olympiads? Where is he? I want to see him!” Amrita exclaimed.
“There — in the corner. On the last bench.”
“That’s Aarush? He lives in our colony. I never knew that was him.” He always looked so… ordinary. I don’t know. It’s hard to believe,” Amrita said, still trying to process.
She looked back one last time.
The boy at the corner still hadn’t looked up.
But something in her had already started to fall.
Little did she know, this moment would split her life in two — before and after.
Because what she didn’t realize was that she wasn’t just walking into a classroom.
She was walking straight into a storm.
And it wouldn’t be loud or wild.
It would be quiet.
It would wear a school uniform.
It would sit on the last bench.
And it would change her, forever.
