The boy sat by the window of the bus, his tiny frame wrapped in layers of clothing to shield him from the biting January cold. It was his first day of school. The morning was still veiled in darkness; the clock had barely struck six. Beside him sat his nanny, a woman with a perpetual knack for filling silence with nonsense. Her words drifted aimlessly, but the boy barely paid attention. His mood was already sour.
The wind howled softly through the bus's slightly open window, carrying with it the distinct chill of a winter dawn. The streets were deserted, save for the occasional puff of smoke rising lazily from a nearby kebab shop. The boy wrinkled his nose at the smell, but what struck him more was the delicate, almost ghostly aroma of jasmine flowers wafting through the air. It reminded him of something he couldn't quite place, a faint memory hovering just beyond his reach.
At a bus stop, the boy noticed a middle-aged woman sitting on a cold metal bench. Her expression was bleak, her posture slumped as if the weight of the world had settled on her shoulders. Somehow, her melancholy mirrored his own. He wasn't used to waking up this early, and the thought of what lay ahead filled him with a vague unease.
Beside them, a mother and her son sat on another seat. The boy in the school uniform looked older—"Maybe fifth grade," the boy guessed. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. That boy had his mother with him. Not that he would ever admit it, but it stung. "I don't need that," he muttered inwardly. "I hardly see my mum these days, but I'm fine by myself."
The bus came to a halt, jolting him from his thoughts. His stomach churned as he stepped off, clutching his small bag tightly. He had only ever heard about school from the neighborhood kids. One said it was fun, while the older boy he admired had called it a terrible place. The boy trusted the latter's judgment.
The cold crept into his fingers, making them tremble. He clenched his fists to stop the shaking, trying to hold back tears as he saw other children wailing. "I'm better than this," he told himself. "I don't cry." His resolve strengthened as he stepped into the building.
Inside the classroom, he immediately felt a wave of disgust. The other kids were loud, their chatter filling the air like an annoying buzz. He found an empty round table and sat alone, wishing desperately to disappear. His solitude was interrupted when a girl plopped down beside him.
She stared at him, her eyes wide with curiosity, as if he were some strange creature she'd never seen before. He glared at her, willing her to leave. The girl seemed to catch the hint. Without a word, she got up and moved to a nearby bench. He exhaled a long breath, relieved.
The class began. The teacher at the front of the room behaved more like a child than an adult, which only deepened the boy's disdain. Then another teacher walked in—a woman who, to his surprise, seemed normal. She announced that they wouldn't be studying today; instead, everyone was free to talk and get to know each other.
While the rest of the class erupted into laughter and chatter, the boy turned his attention to the window. He preferred the view outside—the swaying trees, the faint sunlight struggling through the winter haze. On the bench nearby, the girl who had approached him earlier was now fast asleep, her head resting on her arms. For a moment, he found the sight oddly endearing, but he quickly dismissed the thought. "Disgusting," he whispered under his breath.
The teacher wandered over to the window, standing silently beside him. She didn't speak, didn't try to engage him, just stared outside. Her eyes were heavy with a sadness he didn't fully understand, but it made him feel less alone. The faint scent of jasmine returned, filling the air. He inhaled deeply, feeling a strange comfort. Maybe school wasn't so bad after all.
The bell rang, and the girl woke up, stretching like a cat. She approached him again, her expression bright. "Hi, I'm Jasmine. It's nice to see you. Can I sleep on that bench?"
The boy shrugged. "Whatever."
As the next teacher arrived, Jasmine curled up on the bench and drifted off again. The boy returned to his spot by the window. The sunlight poured in, warm and golden, chasing away the shadows of his earlier mood. He didn't feel bleak anymore.
When the final bell rang, the boy stepped outside, dreading the nanny's chatter. The light from the winter sun was blinding as he exited through the school's main gate. And then he saw her—his mother.
She stood there, her expression as bleak as his had been that morning. In her hand was a single jasmine flower.
The boy froze, staring at her. The scent of the flower seemed stronger now, wrapping around him like a warm embrace. Without saying a word, he walked toward her, his small hand reaching out for hers.
For the first time that day, the boy smiled. School wasn't as disgusting as he'd feared. And maybe, just maybe, tomorrow wouldn't be so bad.