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1st grade class was too childish to be anything serious.
Some kids were quiet, some were loud, and some cry when their parents dropped them off. Mrs. Yana Dumontier, married to the principal of the school, Remi Dumonteir, was the one who taught in first grade.
”Alright class! Please get a pencil and your notebook. Let’s write a sentence!” Yana told the class cheerfully. The kids happily grabbed their things from their cartoon-themed bags and began writing.
Rowan was one of the students that get praised for their clean handwriting. His writings always get displayed on the bulletin board of excellence. Even Mrs. Yana wonders if he really is a 1st grader, or is he just trapped in the body of a 1st grader.
”Great job, Rowan!” Mrs. Yana praised.
His paper got a perfect score as it was now added to the bulletin board. His classmates cheered, some weren’t happy because they wanted their papers to be up there too. Typical children.
Rowan didn’t really care. He was still too young to actually appreciate the praise. So, he remained quiet as he looked around the classroom. He was bored.
Then, he saw a girl. Her name was Hyacinth Monroe, he remembered it when she introduced herself during the first day of school. She was the opposite of him— talkative, a social butterfly, and hated writing. She was once scolded by Mrs. Yana for submitting a paper that she barely put any effort in writing. Though, she didn’t care.
That’s what intrigued him. Hyacinth doesn’t speak English either. She speaks Mandarin, as she grew up with Chinese parents. But, that didn’t stop her from socializing. Waving at her classmates and smiling at them. Commenting without words involved.
Rowan didn’t talk to her. He’s too shy and introverted to do so. While she looked at him with that smile that made his brain short-circuit.
2nd grade was barely different than the first.
Same classmates, different grade level. Rowan quietly sat in class, listening to the teacher talk about decimals. It was peaceful.
Until…
Hyacinth was called to answer the question. The thing is— she didn’t pay attention. Too busy chatting with her seat mates. So, when her name got called, she stared at the teacher with wide eyes as she got up.
”Hyacinth, can you please write on the board on how you subtract numbers with decimals?” Their teacher asked.
When Hyacinth went to the board, she just drew a smiley face, and then saying “I don’t know” innocently. Which earned laughter from the class. Even the teacher had to bite back a smile.
Those actions didn’t go unnoticed by Rowan. She was… interesting, to say the least. Hyacinth didn’t even care when the teacher scolded her and her classmates teasing. She was happy in her own little world. That’s what made him stop and look again and again, no matter how much he tried to ignore it.
3rd grade had some sense of consciousness
Same class, new teacher, new classroom. Most of them are more aware of their actions now that they’re 8-9 years old. Hyacinth also adapted to speaking English— now able to communicate with her classmates properly.
Rowan sat a row behind her. She’s literally in-front of him. She was a bit shorter than him. So, he can see the top of her head from his view. He didn’t really mind. However, their teacher requested them to get a paper and a pencil. As they are tasked to write. When Rowan grabbed his bag to get his things, he got his paper. But, one thing was missing— a pencil.
He searched everywhere in his bag to find one, but there wasn’t any in sight. He probably left it at home when he did his math homework. Sighing in frustration, he placed his bag back and sat down. He was about to borrow a pencil from his seat mate, but then— he saw Hyacinth with a case that was filled with at least 5 pencils. He debated whether or not to borrow from her, but his impulsive thoughts won.
“Hey, Hyacinth? Can I borrow your pencil?” He blurted out. Mentally cursing himself for doing that. They never spoke to each other, and now he’s shamelessly asking her for a pencil like they’re friends!
Hyacinth turned around with a small smile. She then took one pencil from her case and handed it to him wordlessly.
“Thank you..! I promise I’ll return it when we’re done.” Rowan added as she spoke to her. Hyacinth just nodded before turning back to her table to write as well.
After that? He returned the pencil to Hyacinth. Muttering a “thanks” to her.
That’s where it began…
Third grade was a struggle for Hyacinth, she often gets criticized by her teacher due to her dislike and struggle in writing. Especially paragraphs. But, she pulled through.
The next day, Rowan borrowed her pencil again. Hyacinth let him do so. He returns the pencil to her, just for him to borrow it again. Every single time.
4th and 5th grade weren’t different.
What felt so foreign became a routine. Rowan borrowing her pencil, returning it, and borrowing it again the next day. Hyacinth got used to it too. This was Rowan’s way of interacting with her without making things awkward, he’s not a talkative person— and he’ll obviously have nothing to talk about if they actually had a conversation. So, this was how he got to speak to her all the time.
Every time Rowan returns the pencil— when Hyacinth gets home, she sharpens it for him to borrow the next day. Then, handing him another pencil if the current one is short. She grew accustomed to their routine, and maybe she was liking this too. Their own way to communicate.
6th grade connected things
Rowan and Hyacinth were classmates, like always. They sat near each other because both of them were tall. The same routine, borrowing pencils and returning them every day. Then, Hyacinth finally spoke up.
”You keep borrowing pencils rather than buying one.” She said to him. It wasn’t mean, more like curious.
”You have a ton of pencils for a person that hates writing.” He replied, lightly teasing but there was no venom in it.
”I just like being prepared.” Hyacinth defended jokingly.
”No wonder.” Rowan deadpanned lightly.
”Though, there are a lot of people that you can borrow a pencil for. Why do you always borrow mine even though we sat far apart in past grade levels.” Hyacinth asked, genuinely curious.
”Because, I like borrowing it from you.” Rowan said quietly, almost shy. Hyacinth didn’t reply immediately, but she nodded— a small smile on her lips.
They kept doing that familiar routine. Both quietly liking it.
Years pass.
”Heyyy, can I borrow a pencil?” Rowan asked as he entered Hyacinth’s office. His voice deeper as he matured. He’s taller and older. Now a seafarer, yet with that same old shyness.
Hyacinth looked at him as he was standing next to her, she was currently on a chair at her desk. Now an author that published a ton of successful books, ironic for someone who hated writing when she was younger.
Then, she smiled and handed him a pencil. She looked older, sharper, but still the same woman that he used to go to class with. Now happily married. How? That’s history.
“You’re a seafarer, yet you still don’t have your own pencil.” Hyacinth teased.
“Old habits die hard, love. Plus, I like to borrow your pencils— to see that smile again and again.” Rowan replied softly.
Hyacinth rolled her eyes playfully, before leaning in for a kiss. Rowan met her halfway.
Brought together from a pencil. That’s how fate is, bringing people together in the smallest ways such as borrowing a pencil.