The chair beside mine scraped softly one Monday,
Just after morning assembly ended that day.
A boy walked in with rain still on his shirt,
And placed his bag down gently on the desk’s soft skirt.
The fan above us turned - in a slow steady sound,
While sunlight spread quietly across the classroom ground.
I stayed silent as he found his place,
And the room slowly learned his unfamiliar face.
By midweek we shared rulers during Maths class,
And laughed at mistakes that happened too fast.
He sketched small rockets at the edge of his page,
While I folded paper planes in a quiet lesson stage.
At recess we moved through the crowded canteen line,
Carrying drinks while waiting patiently in time.
The seat beside mine no longer felt so new,
Just a quiet space where small moments grew.
During group work I lost the thread of the task,
While others finished faster than I could ask.
He pointed softly to where I should begin,
And stayed beside me without making it a win.
The teacher called for answers from our row,
My hands grew still; I did not want to go.
He slid his book a little closer to me,
And suddenly the work became easier to see.
Now the seat beside mine is never just a place,
It carries small moments we shared in this space.
Some days are noisy, some days feel slow,
But sitting beside him feels like I already know.
We do not say much when the lessons begin,
Yet somehow the day feels lighter within.
And when I look at that seat by my side,
I know good company is quietly there to guide
