That day, I took all of the relevant stuff I will be needing in the classroom. Me and my father awaited the school bus together. This day was special and my happiness was evident on my face. I had spent the entire previous day thinking how it will be like to spend time in a classroom. And then while standing at the bus stop, I noticed a roadside vendor selling pencils which cost around Rs 10 but I knew they would be expensive for my father to afford. I still pointed it out to him how I wanted one, and he nodded. As soon as the bus approached, my father rushed and bought the pencil in no time. I didn’t even sharp it as I wanted to do so proudly in front of my classmates. The bus stopped opposite the main gate of the school and the driver asked all of us to get off. I put my pencil in my pocket and took out the old pencil which I had before. Just when I was about to throw it away I felt as if the pencil spoke to me quite sadly pleading me not to throw it out. Even during the assembly time, I was excited to be finally seated in my brand new class. As the first two lessons were held, I found myself wondering when would my favourite lesson be held. And as it arrived, the teacher greeted us warmly and asked, “What is it today?” I raised my hand and said loudly, “The special class, miss.” “Very good. Take out your notebooks and write on a topic related to your life,” she instructed. I was a little disappointed because I wasn’t exactly in the mood to write but I simply shrugged and took out my notebook and the shiny new pencil my father had bought me. As soon as I began to sharp it, I realised that its lead was weak as it kept breaking and was getting me late in writing. As I struggled with my pencil, the teacher addressed us again, “Five more minutes.” I felt as if my new pencil had deceived me. Tears started rolling down my cheeks and then a kind voice interrupted my misery, “I have an extra pencil. Why don’t you take it?” I thanked him and as I began to write, a painful sound rang in my ears, “But I am loyal. Don’t throw me out.” It was the old pencil calling out to me, the one I had thrown out as soon as I had bought the new one. The writer can be reached at alijanmaqsood112299@gmail.com Published in Daily Times, February 1st 2019.