bell rang before Elara had finished the last sentence.

“Books away, everyone.”

Chairs scraped against the floor. Hannah was already slipping her exercise book into her

bag when Elara dipped her pen again.

“It's finished,” Miss Rowan said, stopping beside her desk.

“Just the last line, Miss.”

“You've had the whole lesson, Elara.”

Elara's fingers tightened around the pen. A bead of ink gathered at its tip and dropped onto

the page, spreading into the crooked letters beneath it.

Miss Rowan sighed softly. “Take it home. And try to write a little more carefully next

time.”

“Yes, Miss.”

The classroom emptied around her. By the time Elara had gathered her scattered pencils,

Hannah was waiting at the door with two other girls.

“Are you coming?”

Elara nodded and reached for her bag, but its strap caught on the corner of the desk. Her

books slipped to the floor.

“Oh, Elara!” Hannah called. “We're going ahead. Don't take all day!”

Their laughter floated down the corridor.

Elara crouched to collect her books. One had fallen open, revealing a page crowded with

words leaning into one another. She shut it quickly, though nobody remained to see.

When she finally reached the courtyard, the others were nowhere in sight.

She took a deep breath and looked towards the gate. Beyond it, the road stretched between

rows of brick houses, empty except for a bicycle resting against a lamppost. The wind

swept through the trees, lifting a handful of copper leaves from the pavement.

Elara glanced towards the canteen.

Then she turned the other way.

A leaf skittered past her shoe. She followed it across the courtyard until it caught beneath a

wooden bench. Its edges were ragged, its colour somewhere between rust and gold.

She bent to retrieve it.

“Careful with that.”

Elara looked up. Mr Bennett, the groundskeeper, was approaching with his broom.

“It's only a leaf,” she said.

“Then it won't mind if you leave it.”

She looked at the little thing resting in her palm.

“Perhaps.”

Mr Bennett resumed sweeping, pushing the leaves into a rustling heap. A gust scattered

them across the path again.

He stared at his work.

“Ah, well,” he muttered, and began once more.

Elara watched him for a moment. Then, with the leaf tucked between her fingers, she

walked home.

The following Monday, Miss Rowan returned their exercise books.

Elara found hers beneath Hannah's. A red mark crossed the bottom of the page, and beside

it, in the teacher's tidy handwriting, stood two words:

Rewrite, please.

She ran her thumb over the ink.

“What's yours say?” Hannah asked.

“Nothing.”

Hannah leaned across the desk anyway.

“Oh. Again?”

Elara pulled the book towards herself.

“It's only handwriting,” Hannah said. “You could fix it if you tried.”

The words were not spoken unkindly. Hannah had already turned away before Elara could

think of an answer.

At the top of the page, Miss Rowan had written a question about the changing seasons.

Elara knew the answer. She had watched the leaves change for weeks, had noticed how the

green faded first at the edges, how the last yellow leaves trembled long after the others had

fallen.

She dipped her pen into the ink.

Autumn is the season when—

“Pens down,” Miss Rowan announced.

Elara stared at the unfinished sentence.

“But, Miss—”

“The lesson is over. Finish it for homework.”

She closed her book.

Outside, the wind had grown stronger. Leaves pressed against the classroom windows,

scraping softly against the glass. One remained caught on the ledge, its stem trembling.

Elara watched it until the corridor filled with footsteps.

That afternoon, rain began before she reached the gates.

She hurried beneath the trees, clutching her books to her chest. Near the old stone wall, she

stopped beneath a broad oak, where the branches offered some shelter.

A gust shook the tree.

Leaves fell around her, spinning through the grey air. One landed on her sleeve. Another

settled against the toe of her shoe.

She opened her notebook to protect the page from the rain and found the leaf she had

collected the week before. It had dried flat between the pages, its veins more visible now,

its colour deepened to amber.

She placed it beside the unfinished sentence.

Autumn is the season when—

A drop of rain struck the paper.

Elara quickly shut the notebook.

For a while, she stood listening to the rain patter against the branches. Then she took out

her pen and opened to a fresh page.

She wrote slowly.

The first letter leaned. The second crowded its neighbour. She paused, rubbed the ink from

the side of her hand, and began again.

A car passed on the road, splashing water against the kerb. Somewhere beyond the wall, a

dog barked.

Elara kept writing.

By the time she reached the bottom of the page, the rain had eased.

Her hand ached. The letters were still uneven, and two words had been crossed out so

heavily that they were barely visible.

She read what she had written.

Then, rather than tearing out the page, she turned to the next one.

On Friday, Miss Rowan asked the class to read their answers aloud.

Hannah went first. Her sentences were clear and neatly arranged. Another girl followed,

then another.

“Elara?”

She rose, carrying her notebook.

For a moment, she could hear nothing but the clock ticking above the blackboard. Her eyes

moved over the page. She had written the answer the previous evening, taking nearly an

hour to finish what some of her classmates might have completed in fifteen minutes.

She swallowed.

“Autumn is the season when the leaves begin to fall,” she read.

Her voice sounded smaller than she had intended.

“And why do you think they fall?” Miss Rowan asked.

Elara looked down at the pressed leaf tucked between the pages.

“I think…” She stopped.

Someone shifted in a chair.

She could have sat down. She could have said she didn't know.

Instead, she looked towards the window.

“Perhaps the tree doesn't need to keep them forever.”

The room was quiet.

Elara ran her finger along the edge of the page.

“They change colour first. And then they fall. But they're still beautiful when they're on the

ground.”

Miss Rowan regarded her for a moment.

“That's an interesting observation, Elara.”

Elara sat down.

Her answer had not been long. She had stumbled over one word, and her fingers had left a

small ink mark on the page. Nothing about her handwriting had changed.

Yet when Hannah leaned over to look at her notebook, Elara did not close it.

At the end of the lesson, she stayed behind to collect her books. Miss Rowan was arranging

papers on her desk.

“Miss?”

The teacher looked up.

“I'll try to make my writing clearer,” Elara said. “But sometimes I need a little longer to

finish.”

Miss Rowan set the papers down.

“Then you must keep practising, Elara. And when you need help, you must ask for it.”

Elara nodded.

She had expected another reprimand. Instead, she found herself wishing she had said this

weeks ago.

Elara settled onto the wooden bench beneath the oak and opened her notebook.

A drop of water had blurred the corner of her page. She turned it over and began again.

“Elara!”

Hannah hurried down the steps, a scarf trailing from one hand.

“Have you done the English homework? Can I see?”

Elara's fingers rested on the edge of the notebook.

For a moment, she almost closed it. Then she turned the page towards Hannah.

“It's not very neat,” she said.

Hannah bent over the writing. “I can't read this word.”

“Withering.”

“And this one?”

“Golden.”

Hannah squinted. “You really should—”

A gust swept between them, scattering leaves across the bench. One landed on the open

notebook, covering half a sentence.

Elara lifted it carefully and tucked it between the pages.

“I'm going to finish the rest,” she said, reaching for her pen.

Hannah glanced towards the gate. “Aren't you coming?”

“In a minute.”

“Again?”

Elara looked at the unfinished line. Her pen hovered above the paper.

“Go on,” she said. “I'll catch up.”

Hannah shrugged and ran down the steps.

Elara bent over her notebook. The first letter came out too large. She crossed it out and

tried again.

Beyond the wall, the wind stirred the oak branches. A copper leaf drifted onto the bench,

settling beside her wrist.

She moved it gently aside.

Her pen continued across the page, its uneven letters catching the afternoon light.