The first day of the new school year always carried a strange kind of excitement. The classrooms smelled of freshly cleaned floors, the notice boards had new charts, and the teachers seemed unusually hopeful about students who, in a few months, would again start forgetting homework.
For Class 10-B, that day began with loud chatter and the scraping of benches.
Aarav slipped quietly into the classroom and walked straight to the last bench, the only place he liked. From there he could see everything — the teacher, the board, the window, the playground, and sometimes even the clouds drifting lazily across the sky.
He dropped his bag and sighed.
"Same classroom, same bench," he murmured.
Just as he was about to open his notebook, the classroom door creaked again.
A girl stepped in.
She looked slightly nervous, holding a transfer certificate file and glancing around the room as if trying to memorize every face. Her hair was tied in a loose braid, and a few strands kept falling over her eyes.
The entire class suddenly went silent.
New students always attracted attention.
The class teacher, Mrs. Sharma, followed her in.
"Good morning, everyone," she said.
"Good morning, ma'am," the class replied in a lazy chorus.
Mrs. Sharma placed the file on the desk and smiled.
"Class, this is Meera. She has transferred here and will be joining you from today."
Every head turned toward the girl again.
Meera gave a shy smile.
"Please take a seat," Mrs. Sharma said.
Meera looked around for an empty place.
Unfortunately for Aarav, the only empty seat was beside him on the last bench.
She slowly walked toward it.
Aarav pretended to read his book very seriously.
"Hi,"
she said softly as she sat down.
Aarav glanced at her for half a second.
"Hi."
And then he looked back at his notebook.
That was their first conversation.
For the next few days, they barely spoke.
Aarav was quiet by nature. He preferred drawing in the margins of his notebook or staring outside the window rather than talking.
Meera, however, was different.
She liked asking questions.
"Why do you sit at the last bench every day?" she asked one afternoon.
"Peace," Aarav replied.
"Peace?"
"Yes. Teachers forget you exist here."
Meera laughed.
"You're strange."
"Thanks."
After that, small conversations started happening between them.
Sometimes about homework.
Sometimes about teachers.
Sometimes about nothing at all.
One rainy afternoon, the class was unusually silent.
The electricity had gone out, and the room was dim except for the grey light coming through the windows.
Students were bored.
Someone started tapping a desk like a drum.
Someone else threw a paper airplane.
Meera leaned closer to Aarav.
"What are you drawing?" she asked.
Aarav quickly closed his notebook.
"Nothing."
"Show me."
"No."
"Why?"
He hesitated for a moment before sliding the notebook toward her.
Meera opened it slowly.
Inside were dozens of sketches.
Trees.
Clouds.
Students sleeping in class.
Teachers yelling.
And one drawing of the school playground during sunset.
Meera stared at it for a long moment.
"You drew this?"
Aarav shrugged.
"Sometimes."
"This is beautiful," she said quietly.
No one had ever said that about his drawings before.
For the first time, Aarav felt slightly embarrassed.
"It's nothing," he said.
But Meera kept looking at the sketch as if it were something important.
That day, something between them changed.
From then on, their conversations became longer.
Every morning Meera would ask,
"Did you finish the math homework?"
Aarav would reply,
"No."
"Good," she'd say. "Me neither."
During lunch break they sometimes shared snacks.
Meera always brought homemade food.
Aarav always brought biscuits.
One day she pushed her lunch box toward him.
"Try this."
"What is it?"
"Paneer paratha."
He took a bite.
"Okay," he admitted, "this is better than biscuits."
"Obviously."
And they both laughed.
Weeks passed.
Then months.
Without realizing it, they had become best friends.
Everyone in the class noticed.
"Last bench couple," one student teased.
Meera rolled her eyes.
"Shut up."
But Aarav just smiled awkwardly.
He wasn't sure why that joke made his heart beat a little faster.
One evening after school, Aarav stayed back in the classroom to finish a drawing.
The sunset outside the window was bright orange.
He was sketching it carefully.
Suddenly a voice spoke behind him.
"You draw sunsets a lot."
It was Meera.
"You didn't go home?" he asked.
"My bus is late."
She walked over and looked at the drawing.
For a few seconds neither of them spoke.
Then Meera said quietly,
"Why do you always draw sunsets instead of sunrises?"
Aarav thought for a moment.
"Sunsets are honest."
"What do you mean?"
"Sunrises promise a lot.
But sunsets show what actually happened during the day."
Meera looked at him thoughtfully.
"You think too much."
"Probably."
She smiled.
"Can you teach me to draw?"
Aarav blinked in surprise.
"Why me?"
"Because you're the only artist I know."
He hesitated.
Then he moved his notebook toward her.
"Hold the pencil like this."
Their hands accidentally touched.
Both of them quickly pulled back.
For some reason, the classroom suddenly felt very quiet.
After that day, drawing lessons became their routine.
Sometimes during lunch.
Sometimes after school.
Sometimes even during boring history lectures.
Meera wasn't very good at drawing.
But she tried anyway.
Her trees looked like broccoli.
Her mountains looked like triangles.
But Aarav never laughed.
Instead he said things like,
"This line is actually nice."
Or
"Try shading here."
And slowly, her drawings started improving.
One day she proudly showed him a sketch.
It was a rough drawing of the last bench by the classroom window.
And two small stick figures sitting there.
"Who are they?"
Aarav asked.
Meera smiled.
"You and me, obviously."
For a moment, Aarav didn't know what to say.
So he just nodded.
Winter arrived.
Exams were getting closer.
The pressure in school was growing.
Students were stressed.
Teachers were strict.
But somehow the last bench still felt like its own little world.
One cold morning Meera arrived unusually quiet.
"Are you okay?" Aarav asked.
She stared at her notebook.
"My dad got transferred again."
Aarav felt a strange knot form in his chest.
"Oh."
"We might move to another city," she said softly.
The classroom noise faded into the background.
Aarav didn't know why this news bothered him so much.
"Maybe we won't," she added quickly. "It's not confirmed."
He nodded.
But for the rest of the day, neither of them talked much.
That evening Aarav walked home slower than usual.
His mind was full of thoughts he couldn't explain.
Why did the idea of Meera leaving feel so heavy?
Why did the last bench suddenly seem like it might become empty again?
He reached home, opened his notebook, and began drawing.
Hours passed.
When he finally finished, he looked at the sketch.
It was the classroom window at sunset.
But this time there were two figures sitting on the last bench.
And one empty seat beside them.
He stared at the drawing for a long time.
Then he quietly closed the notebook.
The next day at school, Meera seemed normal again.
"Good news," she said.
"What?"
"We're not moving yet."
Aarav felt relief wash over him.
"But we might next year."
He nodded slowly.
Then she suddenly smiled mischievously.
"Hey."
"What?"
"Let's make a promise."
"What kind of promise?"
Meera took a page from her notebook and wrote something.
Then she folded it and handed it to him.
"Don't open it now," she said.
"Then when?"
"On the last day of school."
Aarav raised an eyebrow.
"That's months away."
"Exactly."
He slipped the folded paper into his notebook.
"Fine."
Days kept passing.
Their friendship stayed the same.
But sometimes, in quiet moments, both of them felt something new growing between them.
Something unspoken.
Something confusing.
Something that made small things suddenly important.
Like the way they waited for each other every morning.
Or how they both chose the last bench even when other seats were free.
Or how they noticed when the other person was unusually quiet.
Finally, the last week of school arrived.
Exams were over.
Students were celebrating.
Autograph books were passing around.
Phones were full of group photos.
And the reality that everyone would soon go their separate ways was slowly sinking in.
On the final day, the classroom felt strangely emotional.
Some students were laughing.
Some were crying.
Some were writing messages like "Stay in touch" or "Best friends forever."
Aarav sat on the last bench, holding his notebook.
Inside it was the folded paper Meera had given him months ago.
He hadn't opened it yet.
Meera walked over and sat beside him.
"Did you keep it safe?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Good."
The classroom slowly started emptying.
Soon, only a few students remained.
The sunset outside the window looked exactly like the ones Aarav always drew.
Meera stood up.
"My bus is here."
Aarav suddenly felt nervous.
"Wait," he said.
She turned.
He held up the folded paper.
"Can I open it now?"
Meera smiled softly.
"Yes."
He slowly unfolded the page.
Inside, written in neat handwriting, were just two lines.
He read them silently.
Then looked up at her in surprise.
"Meera…"
But she had already started walking toward the door.
She paused for a second, turned back, and said—
"See you someday, last bench partner."
Then she disappeared down the hallway.
Aarav sat there for a long time, staring at the paper in his hands.
The classroom was empty now.
Outside, the sun was slowly disappearing behind the trees.
And the words on the paper were still echoing in his mind…