CHAPTER 1 — THE EMPTY BENCH

The world had always been louder than Amit.

Not just loud in the way of honking cars or chattering children, but loud in a way that made him feel small — as if life itself had a voice that never spoke to him.

At school, children filled the classroom with their usual chaos — laughter bouncing off painted walls, gossip flowing like river water, the clatter of tiffin boxes hitting desks. But in that sea of noise, there was always one corner that remained silent:

the last bench.

Amit’s bench.

He didn’t choose it.

It chose him.

Even when he arrived early and tried sitting somewhere else, someone always tapped his shoulder, their tone rehearsed, polite but dismissive:

“Can you shift a bit? My friends sit here.”

“We already arranged the groups.”

“Sorry, this seat is taken.”

Always him.

Always the outsider.

Over time, Amit stopped trying.

Stopped expecting.

Stopped hoping.

Hope was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

That afternoon, when the final bell rang and children burst out into the sunlit courtyard like fireworks, Amit lingered behind as always. He slowly packed his bag, careful with every movement, as if the world might scold him for taking up too much space.

He walked home alone, his steps kicking soft dust on the narrow road. Halfway, he stopped under the big neem tree near the school gate — a silent witness to his growing years.

Sitting beneath it, he whispered words that had lived in his throat for too long.

“Why is it always me?”

The branches swayed.

The wind blew.

The world moved on.

And then — something changed.

Amit felt a presence beside him. Not loud, not forceful, but warm. When he turned his head, he saw a boy around his age sitting with him.

He hadn’t heard footsteps.

He hadn’t seen him approach.

Yet the boy smiled as if he had always been there.

“Bad day?” the boy asked casually.

Amit startled. “W-Who are you?”

The boy leaned back against the tree trunk. “Someone who listens.”

Amit stared, confused yet comforted — a feeling unfamiliar to him.

The boy extended his hand.

Amit hesitated, then slowly placed his own in it.

A handshake.

A connection.

A beginning.

And although Amit didn’t yet understand it, this was the moment his life changed forever.

CHAPTER 2 — THE OPPOSITE ONE

The boy didn’t behave like children Amit knew.

He wasn’t judgmental.

He didn’t laugh at Amit’s awkwardness.

He didn’t ignore him.

Instead, he filled the air with stories, energy, and a glowing sense of confidence — the exact opposite of Amit’s timid silence.

Amit found himself talking more than he had in years.

“I don’t… really talk to people,” he admitted softly.

“I noticed,” the boy replied, grinning.

Amit flushed. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just… I don’t know how.”

“You don’t need to know how,” the boy said. “Just talk to me.”

Amit blinked. “Just like that?”

“Yeah. Just like that.”

The boy stretched his legs, relaxed. “I like adventures, you know?”

“What kind?”

“All kinds. Travel, exploring, climbing things, seeing new places.”

He looked at Amit.

“And you?”

Amit shrugged. “I’ve never really done anything adventurous.”

The boy tilted his head. “Never?”

“No.” Amit looked down. “People don’t really… include me.”

“So what? You can still dream.”

Amit hesitated. “But what’s the point of dreaming if you can’t do anything?”

The boy smiled — a smile that felt both encouraging and mischievous.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “Dreams are the beginning of everything.”

Amit lifted his head, meeting his eyes.

“What’s your name?” Amit asked shyly.

The boy paused for a moment, then shrugged.

“Names don’t matter,” he said lightly. “Just think of me as… your friend.”

Amit’s heart stumbled.

His throat tightened.

He had never heard anyone call themselves his friend.

“Friend,” Amit repeated quietly.

The word felt unfamiliar.

Heavy.

Warm.

“Yes,” the boy said gently. “Your friend. The one who finally heard you.”

CHAPTER 3 — THE FIRST DREAM

They met every day after school.

Sometimes they sat under the neem tree.

Sometimes they walked along the narrow paths behind the playground.

Sometimes they sat on the school stairs long after students had left.

Amit had never allowed himself to hope for much.

But with the boy, hopes began sprouting like tiny leaves.

One day, Amit whispered, almost embarrassed:

“I want to see the mountains.”

The boy grinned.

“Done.”

Amit frowned. “Done?”

“Yes. I’ll climb them and show you.”

“You’ll climb mountains?” Amit’s voice trembled with awe.

“Of course. Someone has to live your dreams.”

The boy winked. “And you’re clearly too scared to do it.”

Amit’s cheeks warmed.

He didn’t deny it.

A week later, when Amit came running to meet him, the boy waved a handful of photographs.

Photos of mountains.

Rivers.

Snow.

Sunrise.

A little tent pitched at the edge of a cliff.

Amit stared, speechless.

“Y-You went?”

“Obviously,” the boy laughed. “A promise is a promise.”

Amit held the photos like precious treasure.

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered. “I never thought I’d see something like this.”

The boy nudged him. “Then think bigger. What’s the next dream?”

Amit thought carefully.

“I want to see a big city at night… the lights… the tall buildings.”

The boy stood up, stretching.

“Then that’s what I’ll bring you.”

Amit watched him, eyes full of admiration.

For the first time in his life, he felt seen.

CHAPTER 4 — TWO LIVES, ONE BODY

Years passed like pages turning in the wind.

Amit grew taller.

His voice deepened.

His textbooks grew heavier.

But the one thing that never changed was the boy — his friend — waiting for him every day after school.

While Amit’s classmates went out for sports, movies, birthday parties, picnics, adventures… Amit stayed in his small, carefully constructed world.

Just the neem tree.

Just the boy.

Just the same conversations that filled the silent parts of his life.

One afternoon, Amit returned from school looking upset, his eyebrows drawn together.

“What happened?” the boy asked, leaning back with easy calmness.

“Nothing,” Amit muttered. “Just another day.”

“Amit.”

Amit hesitated, then finally spoke.

“A boy from my class… he invited me to sit with him today.”

The boy’s expression didn’t change. “And?”

“I… didn’t go.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Didn’t want to, or were you scared?”

Amit looked away. “Same thing.”

The boy sighed.

“You already have me. Why do you need anyone else?”

Amit’s heart tightened — but with relief, not guilt.

He nodded.

“Yes. I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am.” The boy smirked. “Now come on, tell me what dream you have today.”

So Amit told him.

And the boy lived it.

That became Amit’s life — two lives happening at once:

Amit’s life, small and safe.

And the boy’s life, big and adventurous.

Amit lived through him.

He didn’t need to try.

The boy did everything for him.

Climbed mountains.

Walked through forests.

Saw oceans.

Visited cities.

Met people.

Experienced everything Amit was too afraid to try.

And every day, Amit waited for the next story.

CHAPTER 5 — THE GIRL WHO SMILED

Amit had reached fourteen.

Life was beginning to change. Voices became heavier, faces sharper, emotions stronger.

One day, during recess, a girl with soft eyes and a ponytail sat beside him on the bench in the schoolyard.

“You’re Amit, right?”

Amit froze. “Y-Yes.”

“I’ve seen you around,” she said casually. “Why do you always sit alone?”

Amit swallowed.

His brain panicked.

“I — I just prefer it.”

She gave a small smile. “I get that. But sometimes it gets lonely, doesn’t it?”

Amit felt something strange in his chest — a warmth he wasn’t used to.

Before he could respond, the teacher called for class, and she stood up.

“See you later, Amit.”

For the rest of the day, Amit felt… different.

Visible.

Noticed.

Worth something.

He almost smiled.

After school, he ran to the neem tree.

The boy was already waiting.

“You won’t believe it!” Amit said, breathless.

“What?”

“A girl talked to me today.”

The boy’s smile faltered — only slightly, but enough for Amit to notice.

“Oh?” he said lightly. “And… what did she want?”

“Nothing. Just… talked.”

The boy’s tone sharpened. “And you talked back?”

“Yes,” Amit said, defensive now. “Is that wrong?”

The boy sighed.

“Amit. I’m your friend. You don’t need anyone else.”

Amit hesitated.

“She seemed nice.”

“She won’t stay.”

“How do you know?”

“Because no one stays.”

Amit fell silent. The boy placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You have me. Isn’t that enough?”

Amit nodded slowly.

“Yes… you’re enough.”

And the warmth he had felt earlier disappeared, replaced by the familiar safety of isolation.

CHAPTER 6 — THE BLURRED SHADOW

By sixteen, Amit’s world had become a routine:

Wake up.

School.

Tree.

Boy.

Home.

Sleep.

Repeat.

But something strange began happening.

Sometimes, the boy would appear a few seconds late.

Sometimes his clothes looked… wrong.

Sometimes his face seemed slightly different.

Sometimes his voice echoed strangely.

Amit noticed.

But he convinced himself it was nothing.

One afternoon, Amit asked casually:

“What’s your house like?”

The boy paused, eyes narrowing.

“My house?”

“Yes. I’ve never seen it.”

The boy scratched his neck.

“It’s… far.”

“Oh. What do your parents do?”

“They’re… busy.”

Amit frowned. “You never talk about them.”

The boy shrugged.

“Who cares? You never asked.”

Amit didn’t push further.

But something inside him felt uneasy — like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit.

Still… he pushed the thought aside.

Because losing the boy meant losing the only relationship he had ever known.

CHAPTER 7 — THE AGE OF ALMOST

At seventeen, Amit got opportunities he never thought he would.

His classmates invited him to a birthday celebration.

His neighbors asked him to join a cricket match.

A teacher insisted he join the debate club.

He wanted to say yes.

He really did.

He rehearsed the words in his mind:

“Okay.”

“I’ll come.”

“I’d like to join.”

But when the time came…

He froze.

He turned away.

He avoided eye contact.

He declined politely.

The boy watched it all, leaning against the neem tree as Amit returned each evening.

“See?” the boy said smugly. “People don’t understand you.”

Amit exhaled shakily. “Maybe I didn’t give them a chance.”

“You don’t need to,” the boy replied. “You have me.”

“Aren’t you tired of me?” Amit whispered.

The boy softened.

“Never.”

Amit smiled.

He didn’t realize at the time that comfort and imprisonment often look the same from inside.

CHAPTER 8 — THE YEARS OF QUIET LONELINESS

Adulthood arrived quietly, like a slow-moving storm that Amit didn’t see until it was already above him.

He got a job — small, average, predictable.

He moved into a rented room — quiet, plain, unremarkable.

He followed routines — wake, work, home, sleep.

But every evening… he still visited the neem tree.

The tree was older now, its bark rougher, its branches heavier. Amit himself had changed — broader shoulders, tired eyes, slower smile. But the boy…

The boy hadn’t changed at all.

Still the same age.

Still the same face.

Still the same energy.

Amit didn’t question it — not truly.

Somewhere deep inside, he felt the strangeness…

but his loneliness was stronger than his curiosity.

One evening, Amit sat under the tree and said quietly:

“You know… sometimes I wonder what my life would’ve been like if I’d said ‘yes’ to people.”

The boy raised an eyebrow. “Why think about that?”

“I don’t know.” Amit stared at the sky. “Maybe I could’ve had friends. Or traveled. Or done something bigger.”

The boy leaned forward, voice firm.

“You don’t need any of that. You were never meant for crowds.”

Amit looked down at his hands. “Sometimes I feel like I’m waiting for something.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. A moment. A person. A beginning.”

The boy smiled faintly.

“You have me. I am all of that.”

Amit nodded — but the emptiness in his chest didn’t nod with him.

CHAPTER 9 — A DOOR HALF CLOSES

At twenty-four, Amit’s colleagues invited him to dinner.

“You should come, Amit,” they said warmly. “It’ll be fun.”

Amit wanted to go.

He even dressed for it.

But when he stepped outside his house, he felt a familiar tug — a gravity pulling him away from everything beyond his comfort.

He walked instead to the neem tree.

His friend was there, leaning casually against the trunk.

“You didn’t go,” the boy said.

Amit lowered his head. “I tried.”

“You don’t need them,” the boy said softly. “You’ve always had me.”

Amit gave a small, guilty smile.

“Yeah… I guess I do.”

But when he walked home that night, he paused at the mirror in his room.

For the first time, he asked the question that had lived at the edge of his mind for years:

“Why do you always appear only when I’m alone?”

He waited for an answer.

But the room remained silent.

Still, he didn’t dare think deeper.

The truth was a door.

Amit had kept it half-closed his entire life.

CHAPTER 10 — THE MOMENT HE ALMOST SAW

It happened on a winter evening.

Amit was walking home from work when a group of former classmates recognized him.

“Amit? Is that really you?”

He froze. “H-Hi.”

“You disappeared after school, man! What are you doing these days?”

Amit felt a strange warmth — someone remembered him.

Before he could answer, another voice cut in:

“Hey, we’re planning a school reunion next month. You have to come!”

Amit swallowed. “Come…?”

“Yes! It’ll be fun. We’ll all catch up!”

He opened his mouth to respond — and for the first time in many years, the word yes almost escaped his lips.

But then—

“Amit.”

A familiar voice behind him.

The boy.

Only he could hear him.

“You don’t belong there.”

Amit’s heart stuttered.

His confidence crumbled.

He stepped back, forcing a smile to the group.

“I… I have work. I don’t think I can make it.”

Their faces fell with disappointment.

“Oh… alright. Maybe next time.”

Amit nodded and left quickly, guilt crushing his chest.

That night, he sat under the neem tree, eyes red.

“I wanted to go,” he whispered.

The boy sat beside him.

“I know.”

“Then why did you stop me?”

The boy didn’t look at him. “Because you’re not meant for that world.”

Amit clenched his fists.

“How do you know what I’m meant for?”

The boy finally turned to him.

“Because I’ve been with you since the beginning.”

But Amit didn’t hear comfort in those words.

For the first time, he heard control.

CHAPTER 11 — THE YEARS OF SILENT REGRET

Amit turned thirty.

Thirty-five.

Forty.

Life moved.

People changed.

Seasons passed.

But Amit’s world stayed the same.

Still alone.

Still quiet.

Still sitting under the neem tree with the same boy who hadn’t aged a day.

Amit started noticing more things.

One evening, he asked:

“What’s your favorite food?”

The boy shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What’s your birthday?”

“I don’t remember.”

“What’s your real name?”

The boy hesitated.

“You’ve never needed it.”

Amit felt a shiver crawl up his spine.

“My dreams…” Amit whispered. “Did you ever… actually do the things you said you did?”

The boy smiled gently, almost sadly.

“Does it matter? You believed them. And they made you happy.”

Amit’s breath quickened.

Something inside him cracked.

And for the first time — the first real time — he ended their meeting early.

“I’m going home,” he said blankly.

The boy nodded, expression unreadable.

Amit walked away, but his mind stayed behind, trembling.

Something was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

But he didn’t yet know what.

CHAPTER 12 — THE PAINFUL MIDDLE

By the time Amit reached his late forties, he had become a quiet man with gentle manners and tired eyes — the kind of person people greet politely but never truly know.

He lived in a small rented flat on the third floor of an old building.

He didn’t have many possessions — just books, a few clothes, a kettle, and the memories of a life barely lived.

But every single evening…

He walked to the neem tree.

The boy still waited there.

Still young.

Still unchanged.

Still unrealistically perfect.

Amit sat down, feeling the ache in his knees and the heaviness in his soul.

“I’m getting older,” he whispered.

The boy nodded. “Everyone does.”

“Not you.”

The boy smiled softly. “Maybe I’m just exceptional.”

Amit watched him closely.

“You don’t age. You don’t change. You don’t remember things. You don’t have a past. You don’t have a home. You don’t have anyone but me.”

The boy didn’t deny any of it.

Instead, he changed the subject.

“You seem tired today.”

Amit sighed. “I feel like I’m disappearing.”

“You’re not disappearing,” the boy said.

“You’re just… quiet.”

Amit shook his head slowly. “No. I think I’m fading. And I don’t know how to stop it.”

The boy paused before answering.

“You don’t have to stop it. I’m still here.”

Amit closed his eyes.

The boy’s presence was comforting — painfully comforting — like a warm blanket that suffocates more than it protects.

Still, Amit said nothing.

He wasn’t ready to lose the only friend he had ever allowed into his life.

CHAPTER 13 — THE JOB HE NEVER LOVED

Amit continued working.

Day after day.

Year after year.

He was reliable.

He was polite.

He was invisible.

Colleagues respected him, but no one really knew him.

He attended meetings, completed tasks, handed in reports, but he existed more like a quiet background character than a person with dreams.

One afternoon, during lunch break, a colleague named Sameer sat beside him unexpectedly.

“Amit, yaar… you’re always alone. Why don’t you join us sometime?”

Amit forced a smile.

“I’m used to solitude.”

“Used to doesn’t mean good for you,” Sameer said gently.

Amit swallowed. “Maybe.”

“Come for dinner tonight,” Sameer insisted. “We’ll all be there. You should too.”

For a moment — a beautiful, trembling moment — Amit felt the old spark of possibility.

Maybe this is my chance. Maybe life is still waiting for me.

He opened his mouth to say yes.

But then —

He heard a whisper right behind him.

“Amit.”

His friend’s voice.

“You don’t belong with them.”

Amit froze mid-breath.

The colleague looked confused. “Everything okay?”

Amit nodded stiffly.

“Yes. I’m fine. I… I have some work. Maybe next time.”

Sameer looked disappointed, but he didn’t push.

“Alright… next time.”

Amit nodded again, but the guilt ate him alive.

That evening, he stormed to the neem tree, breath shaking.

“Why do you always do this?” Amit shouted.

The boy blinked in surprise. “Do what?”

“Stop me from living!”

“I protect you.”

“No!” Amit snapped. “You isolate me.”

The boy stepped closer, voice firm.

“You will get hurt. People disappoint.”

“So do you,” Amit whispered.

The boy’s eyes softened — almost human, almost broken.

And Amit walked away, fighting tears.

CHAPTER 14 — THE REGRET THAT GREW WITH AGE

Amit turned fifty.

Fifty.

Half a century of breathing.

Half a century of quiet routines.

Half a century of waiting for a life that never came.

He sat alone in his living room one night, staring at old diaries he had meant to fill but never did.

He flipped through empty pages.

Empty pages.

Empty years.

Empty chances.

His hands shook.

His heart ached.

He whispered into the stillness:

“What have I done with my life?”

No answer came.

He wasn’t at the tree.

The boy wasn’t there.

In the silence of his room, Amit felt something he had never felt so sharply before:

regret.

Not the soft regret of missed homework or lost items.

But the heavy regret of a life unlived.

He whispered again, voice cracking:

“I could have been someone.”

The next morning, Amit met the boy at the neem tree.

The boy smiled as always.

“Ready for today’s dream?”

Amit just stared at him.

“I’m old now.”

“You’re not that old,” the boy replied casually.

“I am,” Amit said firmly. “And you… you’re still the same.”

The boy didn’t respond.

Amit took a deep breath.

“I think… something is wrong.”

The boy’s voice grew softer.

“Don’t overthink it.”

“I’ve been underthinking my whole life,” Amit whispered.

“And that’s the problem.”

He walked away from the tree — for the first time with intention, not fear.

Behind him, the boy watched silently.

His eyes sad.

His figure wavering.

Like smoke losing shape.

•   Ayush Raut