‘You can go and sit there,’ said the English teacher. ‘Just the second-last bench.’

I didn’t understand English very well at that time. I was only ten, but she pointed her finger towards the only bench that had one empty seat. I walked there silently with a heavy bag on my shoulder. It was my first day at the new school and my mom, in her worry, had loaded my bag with all the books and notebooks for the session without realizing that there were only six periods in a day.

Each step that I took was the longest step of my life until that point. I was only ten and had not had much experience of walking while the entire class looked at me. Except, I had walked across our temple many times, with men and women on either side, to bow my head before the idol, and every time I felt fully aware of my nerves, bones and muscles. I do not like it when I am being watched by a crowd.

As I approached the bench, Sarah looked at me with displeasure. I didn’t know who Sarah was then. How could I know? She gave me an unwelcoming look, as if I had been forced upon her. I saw her exchange a glance with her friend that made me feel uncomfortable.

Why would that be, I wondered? I realized maybe it was the fact that I was nothing special to look at, or that my shirt and pants didn’t fit properly, or maybe that my tie was not tied properly. And looks did matter, I suppose. For the first time in my life, I felt that I might not be good-looking. I had never consciously judged anyone on their looks before. Although, obviously, I did notice things that I found beautiful, like my mother’s eyes or my father’s laugh, and that pretty girl who visited us last summer.

I never paid much attention to boys as such. Boys were just boys, loud and undisciplined, and always asking for my math homework. I was good at Math, probably the best among all. My teacher said so and I believed him. It came to me naturally, like sports came naturally to other boys. I was not very good at sports, but I could play shots on the off side, better than anyone I knew. But then you cannot be a good batsman if you only play a few good shots.

I looked at Sarah properly only later in the day. At that time, as I walked towards the bench, I didn’t even know her name. I could not pay attention to my own thoughts. Did I mention it was my first day at school? I didn’t blame my parents. Not at all. They were just trying to put me in a better school, although they could have dropped me at school a few hours earlier, before the classes started, or at least at the time of assembly, to save me from this walk. School was miles away from my home and they did the best they could. I understood that very well even then.

Sarah rearranged her books that were spread across the table to make room for me. I sat down without making any noise and wanted to tell her how sorry I was. I would have happily moved out of her way, and I meant no discomfort to her.

Ms. Gracy, our English teacher, was well respected. There was command in her tone. Students were not kind to other teachers, especially the ones who could not speak English well. I didn’t speak English well either. It did bother me. I wished my English was as good as my Math. I was sad to see the English period end and Ms. Gracy leave.

During the day, I couldn’t follow the curriculum; I was months behind the class and I knew that I would have to work hard. As soon as I sat, Sarah put her bag between us. I think she wanted to keep a safe distance between us, so she would not be embarrassed by my company, especially in front of her friends. I kept my bag on the floor under the desk so as not to cause her any discomfort.

Every period was forty-five minutes long and felt like an eternity. Sarah had a notebook for every subject. She used neat cursive handwriting. I made notes, more like scribbles, as I could not follow anything in any class. I kept wondering whether I would ever catch up and be able to follow the classes as well as Sarah did. She had lilies printed on her pencil pouch. I wasted no time in realizing that everything about her was perfect except for the fact that she did not have a perfect person to sit with in the class.

The recess bell rang loudly for a good thirty seconds. It sounded like an electric buzzer. In my previous school, we had a round metal bell that was banged with a wooden stick. Everyone in the class started talking over the teacher. The bell was a sign of dismissal of the teacher. I still paid attention to every word she said. She was the only one apart from Ms. Gracy who noticed that I was new in the class and asked if I was able to follow. I liked her, although I never really came to like the subject she taught.

The class disappeared for lunch. The school played music on the loudspeaker during the break, which I found amusing. Even as a child, I laughed at the choice of music. I stayed back in the classroom. My mom had packed my favorite meal for lunch, but I didn’t open the lunch box. I just sat at my desk. I was alright, I didn’t cry, although I really wanted to. No one really cared; everyone had their circle of friends. I really prayed no one came back until the end of recess. I didn’t want anyone to notice that I was alone during the break. I opened a blank notebook to distract myself. The music stopped, and the electric buzzer finally rang. One by one, everyone returned to their seats.

After a while, I noticed Sarah walking towards our desk. Although I did not make any eye contact with her, she looked at me and the open notebook on the desk. She somehow realized that I hadn’t stepped out of the classroom during the break. She sat beside me and looked directly into my eyes. I, with all the emptiness inside my chest, looked back at her. She didn’t smile or say anything. She had no expression — not even pity. I really liked that about her. She asked me my name. I didn’t have an unusual name. I hoped, in that moment, that I had an unusual name that would impress Sarah. I asked her name in return, and she said softly, in a voice that I remember as vividly as if it were yesterday, “Sarah.”

The last period was Math. Although most of the class would have disagreed, I didn’t think our math teacher was bad. Sure, he was strict and gave homework; maybe that’s why he was not popular. He picked out names randomly and made us solve problems on the board in front of the class. The class was forced to pay attention. Not everyone liked to pay attention in class, and not everyone liked Math. And Sarah didn’t like Math either. She liked English. She was probably the best English student in class. She was good at other subjects too, but not Math.

The math teacher asked us to open our books to section II of chapter 3. He put a problem on the board. I was lucky that my name was not on the attendance sheet that he carried. I was not paying attention anyway — did Sarah really ask me my name? I asked myself.

I watched the Math teacher walk across the floor. He stopped and stood next to me and asked what my name was. I did not like attention, and I did not like that my name was not unusual. What would Sarah’s friends make of it?

‘Can you solve the problem on the board?’ commanded the Math teacher. He was just plain and direct. I stood up at my place. I had nowhere to hide. He asked me again — ‘Can you solve the problem on the board?’ I was looking for an escape and silence was my armor. I prayed that he would move on to another student, but he didn’t.

‘It’s his first day at school, Sir. He wouldn’t know how to solve the problem.’ Sarah spoke on my behalf. Kindness has a peculiar beauty if you look at it closely, just like math. And in that moment, Sarah felt kind to me.

‘Come up to the board, no excuses,’ said the Math teacher.

I understood why no one liked him. He was fair in his own way, and some part of me understood that. He handed me the book. I was still at my desk, reading the problem, and saw Sarah’s gaze on me. I loved Math. I really did. I was swept in and felt no fear. But I had never solved anything in front of the entire class before.

The teacher handed me a long white chalk to write with. I held it between my fingers just like a pencil, but pencils were easy to hold; they were thin and wooden and in your control. I had held them millions of times. The chalk broke and a part of it fell on the floor as soon as I tried to write on the blackboard. The fear returned and covered me from head to toe. I imagined I heard giggling in the class. I turned around to pick up the broken piece.

I glanced across the class and it was like being watched with a thousand eyes. I didn’t like people looking at me, observing me. My eyes found Sarah. She was sitting there, without any expression. She didn’t seem to giggle, nor did she seem to pity me, and I liked this about her. I felt normal again.

I turned around and started writing on the board. Step by step, I wrote the equations and felt a pure moment of joy and bliss that only I could feel in the world. It was math after all. I loved math and math loved me back. I arrived at the correct solution.

I walked towards my desk and noticed Sarah remove the bag that was placed between us.