THE QUIET CORNER
In the sleepy hill town of Auli, where the air smelled of pine and evenings arrived wrapped in golden mist, there stood an old government school—paint peeling from its walls, windows that refused to shut during the monsoon, and a rusty bell that sounded more tired than loud. But within those walls lived a world of laughter, secrets, scraped knees, chalk dust, and unspoken dreams. In Class 10-B, on the very last bench by the window that looked out at the hills, sat Karan and Arjun. They weren’t the toppers. They didn’t raise their hands first. They weren’t favourites in school assemblies or sports events. But everyone knew them — teachers, peons, the principal, even the chaiwala outside the gate. Because they were inseparable. And because together, they brought a kind of warmth into the classroom that no lesson ever could. They were called “The Last Benchers” — a name that stuck not as a label of laziness, but of quiet loyalty. For ten long years, through ink-stained shirts,...