When I think back to Class 8, I can still see the chipped paint on the classroom walls, the dust dancing in sunlight near the window, and the buzz of restless energy in the air as the bell rang. It was one of those typical mornings—monsoon skies, soaked shoes, and the faint smell of wet notebooks. I was half-asleep, slouched over my desk, when he walked in.
Nobody really noticed him at first. That's the kind of guy he was—easy to miss. Skinny to the point where his shirt seemed to hang loose on his frame, hair messy in that "I didn't bother" way, and eyes always fixed on the ground like he was hoping no one would ask him anything. His name was Aarib. He was a new admission, and if the timing had been any more random, I'd have assumed he walked into the wrong school by mistake.
Our class teacher introduced him like she'd already forgotten his name. "This is Aarib. He's joined us from... um, Sacred Heart School, right?" He just nodded. Didn't say a word. Didn't smile. Just nodded and kept staring at his feet.
The teacher pointed him toward the back bench—the one that always had an extra spot, the one no one ever really fought for. Aarib walked over quietly, his shoes squeaking slightly, and sat down like he didn't want the bench to notice his presence.
I remember thinking: This guy won't last a month.