Chapter 2: The Seat Beside the Window

The next morning, it rained.

He forgot his umbrella. Not because he was careless, but because no one told him the forecast. He used to check, but somewhere along the line, he stopped.

So he walked. Soaked. Shoes squishing. Hair dripping. Bag pressed to his chest.

When he arrived, the classroom was warm and noisy. Laughter bounced off the walls. Someone complained about the weather. Another showed off a new keychain. A group of girls crowded around a phone.

No one noticed him enter. No one ever did.

He sat at the farthest desk, second row from the back, by the window.

The seat beside him was still empty.

Always empty.

It used to belong to someone. At the start of the semester. A boy who transferred schools after the bullying got bad. Different kind of bullying. Loud. Physical. Chairs kicked, notebooks stolen.

He had tried to speak up once. Just once.

The others turned on him after that.

He left a month later.

Now, his old seat sat beside a ghost.

Classmate A dropped a pen and bent to pick it up. When she rose and caught a glimpse of him, her smile faded.

She looked away.

He took out his textbook, even though class hadn’t started.

His uniform was still damp.

The teacher walked in. Called for silence. Took attendance. His name was called last.

He raised his hand.

Silence.

That was the extent of his presence.

During first period, a girl raised her hand and said someone took her mechanical pencil. Her voice was nervous. Quiet.

Someone suggested, “Maybe it rolled off your desk?”

Another voice said, “He sits behind you, right?”

The teacher turned.

He held up both hands. Empty. Palms open.

The pencil was later found behind the teacher’s desk.

No one apologized.

Second period, the projector didn’t work. The teacher clicked the remote again and again.

“Who was the last person near the AV cabinet?” she asked.

Silence.

Eyes turned toward him.

He hadn’t even moved from his seat.

The class watched him for a moment longer. The teacher sighed and gave up.

Third period was gym. He changed in silence. Someone had cut a small hole in his gym shirt.

He wore it anyway.

No one partnered with him for stretches.

The teacher made him run laps alone.

He didn’t complain.

He finished his laps. Returned to the line. Waited. Breathing quietly. Counting seconds in his head.

One of the boys tripped while jumping hurdles. Landed badly. Sprained his wrist.

“He was staring at me,” the boy muttered.

That was enough.

The coach narrowed his eyes.

After gym, no one talked to him in the changing room.

Lunch came.

He didn’t eat.

His sandwich had mold. He threw it away without opening the plastic.

He sat at his desk, facing the window. Rain tapped softly against the glass.

A shadow passed by the hallway.

Then, footsteps. Then silence.

Someone opened the classroom door.

A girl entered.

She had short black hair tied with a clip, eyes slightly too sharp for her soft expression. She held a folded piece of paper in her hand.

Everyone turned to look.

She ignored them.

She walked straight to the empty seat beside him.

And sat down.

The room froze.

He didn’t look at her.

She didn’t speak.

The teacher arrived. The moment passed.

But the air didn’t return to normal.

After school, she stood up first.

She left the classroom.

He didn’t move.

There was no note in his locker that day.

But there were whispers.

“She sat next to him.”

“Is she crazy?”

“Maybe she lost a bet.”

He walked home in silence.

The rain had stopped.

That night, he dreamed of the classroom. Only it was empty. No students. No desks. Just him. And the seat beside the window.

Still empty.