Every classroom has a corner that belongs to someone.
Ours was by the window — second bench from the back, where sunlight slipped in like a lazy visitor and the outside world looked more interesting than the blackboard.
That was our place.
Mine, Rayan's, my best friend Aashi, and Arnav's.
It started as a random seating arrangement — the teacher got tired of our talking and decided to "keep all the troublemakers in one corner."
Bad decision. We became louder.
But that corner, somehow, became our whole world.
---
Rayan always sat near the window, his elbow resting on the sill, pretending to listen while the wind played with his hair.
I sat beside him — because if I sat anywhere else, I'd probably spend the whole period turning around just to whisper something to him.
Behind us sat Aashi and Arnav.
They argued over everything — from homework to movie endings.
Arnav, the class topper, was annoyingly confident about always being right, and my best friend was annoyingly determined to prove him wrong.
Their fights were legendary.
Once, they argued about whether Pluto should still be called a planet, and it ended with Arnav saying,
"If Pluto gets to come back, I should get marks for emotional damage after listening to you."
She threw her pen at him.
I laughed so hard I dropped my notebook.
---
Between their constant bickering and our quiet conversations, that little corner became the happiest chaos.
Rayan had this way of teasing that wasn't mean — it was warm, playful, the kind that made me blush and roll my eyes at the same time.
"You know," he said once, leaning closer while pretending to copy notes,
"your handwriting looks like a doctor's prescription."
"It's readable," I said.
"If someone's fluent in hieroglyphics, maybe."
"It's predictable but you write paracetamol ,actually seems like that"
"No its not "
"It is Rayan"
I tried to glare at him, but he grinned — that half-smile that made my stomach feel like it was doing cartwheels.
Sometimes, when the teacher turned to write on the board, he'd whisper something random — a joke, a question, a comment that made no sense but made me smile anyway.
It became our thing — laughing at nothing, sharing glances when we weren't supposed to.
---
Lunch breaks were always the same.
I'd open my tiffin, my best friend would open hers, and the smell of food would fill the air.
Rayan and Arnav? They never brought theirs. Not once.
They'd sit in front of us, watching like two judges on a cooking show, while we ate and talked.
We'd offer them food every single day.
Every single day, they'd refuse with the same line —
"No, you eat. We're not hungry."
But still, they stayed there, talking, laughing, teasing.
And the moment we finished eating, all four of us would get up, walk around the school corridors, talking about everything and nothing.
Those walks were our tiny universe — endless jokes, shared secrets, and dreams that sounded too big for four school kids.
---
I didn't think much of it then.
It was just friendship — simple, easy, bright.
But even now, lying in this white hospital bed, I can still feel that sunlight on my face, the laughter echoing in my ears.
Maybe that's what memories are — sunlight that never fades, no matter how long the day ends.
"Back then, I thought those days would last forever. But forever, I later learned, can sometimes fit inside a single classroom corner."