The bell rang, sharp and impatient.
Chairs scraped across the floor as everyone settled into places they'd claimed long ago. The classroom filled the way it always did—familiar, noisy, careless.
Ruhan didn't move.
He was already sitting beside me.
Same bench.Same space between our arms.Same quiet presence that had started feeling permanent without anyone naming it.
Yesterday, it had felt noticeable.Today, it felt… settled.
He opened his notebook, flipped to the page we'd left unfinished, and slid it slightly toward me.
"You missed the last formula," he murmured.
"I thought you didn't notice," I whispered back.
"I study with you," he said simply. "Hard not to."
Behind us, someone leaned forward and whispered—not softly enough.
"Didn't he use to sit near the window? Always alone?"
Another voice replied, amused. "Yeah. Guess people change."
Ruhan's pen paused for half a second.
Then he kept writing.
I glanced at him. "You okay?"
He nodded once. "I chose this seat."
That was all.
The teacher walked in then, heels clicking sharply against the floor. She started the lesson, then stopped—just briefly—when her eyes landed on our bench.
On him.
Something unreadable crossed her face. Recognition, maybe. Or memory.
She said nothing.But she didn't rush past us either.
Ruhan noticed. I could tell by the way his shoulders stiffened slightly. Still, he didn't shift. Didn't lean away. Didn't retreat into himself the way he once might have.
During class, our elbows brushed when we both reached for the same book. Neither of us apologized. Neither of us moved.
It felt ordinary. And brave.
At break, as I packed my bag, someone said loudly enough to be heard but softly enough to deny later,"He's different now, no? Always with her."
I waited for Ruhan to react.
He didn't.
He stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder, and looked at me instead.
"You coming?" he asked.
"Yeah."
We walked out together, not rushed, not hidden. Just… present.
Near the door, I paused. "You know they're talking."
"I know," he said. "They always did."
"That doesn't bother you?"
He stopped and turned to face me. His voice was calm, but there was weight beneath it.
"It bothered me when I thought sitting alone would protect me."
My chest tightened.
"And now?"
"Now," he said, softer, "I know disappearing didn't change anything."
We stood there for a moment, noise moving around us like water.
That's when it hit me—not all at once, but quietly enough to feel true:
I hadn't just started sitting with him.I hadn't just shared notes or space or time.
Something in him had shifted.
The boy who used to choose the corner had chosen visibility.The boy who stayed silent had chosen presence.
And somehow—without meaning to—
I had altered the shape of his days.
🖤 Written by Pragati Priya (pen name: Zoey)
© Zoey_8087 — My story, my words. Reposts and copies? Not allowed.