💧 "The Bench Near Classroom 12" 💧

 

There was nothing special about the wooden bench near Classroom 12—old, scratched, uneven. Students sat there only when every other seat was taken. Everyone except Zoe and Riyan.

For them… that bench was the beginning of everything.

Zoe was the kind of girl teachers adored—organized notes, perfect grades, never late. Riyan was the boy everyone warned her about—detention record, careless smile, jokes in serious moments. They were opposite pages of two different books, never meant to meet.

But fate doesn’t care about “meant to.”

One rainy morning, the school was too crowded and too noisy. Zoe sat on the bench with her books, and a minute later, Riyan sat next to her with dripping hair and a smirk.

“You look like the kind of person who hates noise,” he said.

“I look like someone who hates you talking,” she replied.

He laughed. She didn’t. But she smiled later when he looked away.

From the next day, both came earlier than usual—just to sit on that bench. At first, in silence. Then small conversations. Then long ones. Then secrets too fragile to say loudly.

Zoe learned that Riyan wasn’t careless—he was hurting. His parents were separating, and he hated going home. Riyan learned Zoe wasn’t perfect—she was exhausted living up to everyone’s expectations.

They became each other’s safe place.

Soon, everyone noticed the way his loudness softened around her… the way her eyes searched the halls for him… the way that old bench became reserved for two hearts quietly falling.

It wasn’t dating. It wasn’t defined. It was more than friendship and more than almost.

It was something only they understood.

But teenage love isn’t always stronger than fear.

Rumors started—people saying Zoe would “ruin her reputation” being with a boy like Riyan. Teachers warned her. Friends whispered in her ear:

“You’re too good for him.”

Riyan heard it too. And he believed them.

One afternoon, he didn’t come to the bench. Not the next day. Not the day after. Zoe waited anyway, clutching her books and breaking a little more each day.

When she finally found him at the school gate, she asked softly:

“Why are you avoiding me?”

He forced a smile. A broken one.

“You should focus on people who match your level. Not someone like me.”

She shook her head, tears gathering.
“You were the only thing that felt real.”

He wanted to stay. God, he wanted to. But he stepped back.

“I’m not good for you, Zoe. And you deserve a life without regrets.”

He walked away before she could stop him… because if she cried, he wouldn’t have the strength to leave.

After that, Zoe never sat on the bench again—because the memories sat there waiting to hurt her. Riyan transferred schools at the end of the year without saying goodbye.

Years later, Zoe came back to visit. The bench was still there—old, worn, untouched. On it, someone had carved:

“I never thought I was enough… until you.” — R

She sat down and cried—not because she still loved him, but because teenage love leaves a mark that adult life can’t erase.

Some loves don’t stay forever.
Some loves don’t get a second chance.
Some loves simply sit like that old bench—
still there, but no longer theirs.

Paper Planes & Half-Written Promises 1

 

No loud beginning. No fireworks. Just two teenagers who didn’t know that a simple “Hi” in the school corridor would one day feel like a memory too heavy to carry.

Ayaan was the quiet kind of boy—soft-spoken, always with a book in hand, like he was searching for a place that wasn’t reality. And Aria… she was sunshine with shoes on. Loud laugh, messy hair, and eyes that believed everything in life could be fixed with hope.

They met in the most ordinary way—Ayaan dropped his notebook, Aria picked it up, and found a page he never intended anyone to read:

“If someone ever looks at me like I’m enough, I think I’ll finally breathe.”

She looked at him that way.

That was the beginning.

For months, they shared lunch, secrets, playlists, and dreams. They sent paper planes across the classroom with dumb jokes and half-drawn doodles. Aria always wrote:

“Promise me you won’t leave.”

Ayaan never promised. He was scared of promises—scared of being someone’s disappointment.

But he fell for her anyway. Slowly. Silently. Deeply.

They weren’t a perfect couple, not even officially. They were something in-between—almost lovers, almost confession, almost forever. Everyone saw it, felt it, knew it. Everyone except them.

Life, however, doesn’t wait for teenagers to figure out their hearts.

Aria’s parents planned to move to another city… permanently. She told him on a winter afternoon, hugging her knees on the school rooftop, trying not to break.

“Ayaan… tell me not to go. Just once. Give me a reason to stay.”

His heart screamed. But his mouth remained silent.

Because he believed he wasn’t enough to hold her back from a better life.

So, he watched her cry, watched her walk away, watched his own everything pack up and leave.

On her last day, she placed a paper plane in his hand.

Inside, only five words:

“You were always my reason.”

After she left, Ayaan wrote her hundreds of letters he never sent, walked by places that smelled like her laughter, replayed every “almost” like punishment.

Years later, Aria said she would visit the old town for just one evening. Ayaan ran to the school rooftop—their rooftop—hoping she still remembered.

She did.

But the timing was cruel.

She wasn’t alone.

She was engaged.

She looked happy… the kind of happy he always wanted for her, even if it wasn’t with him. They talked, but not about love. They talked like strangers with too much history and too little courage.

Before leaving, she placed one last paper plane in his hand.

This time, only three words:

“In another life…”

Ayaan smiled painfully. Because he finally understood…