The classroom smelled of chalk dust and freshly peeled stickers. Little chairs scraped, voices rose and fell like bird calls. Tyler sat by the window, back straight, hands folded on the desk, watching everything with the tiredly curious eyes of a man who had done this once before and was now reading the script.
"Okay, Class 1-A!" Ms. Hana Rivers clapped twice. "Settled? Settled? Good. If anyone's still practicing dramatic exits, now would be a lovely time to stop."
"Not me!" Noah shouted the moment she looked his way, grinning like he'd just won a point in an invisible game.
Hana laughed, all sunshine. "Noah, you're a walking sound effect." She moved through the semicircle, clipboard swinging, then bent, face close to the children's drawings and hands. "We're going to do something fun. Draw yourself doing what you love! But—no pressure. If you like cars, draw cars. If you like sleeping, draw sleep. If you like screaming at breakfast—" she tilted her head and grinned at Noah, who made a show of pretending to be offended.
Tyler watched the choreography: how she placed each child under a tiny spotlight of attention, how her smile smoothed every wrinkle in a small panic. He remembered her from his other life—loud, kind, a little scattered. He didn't remember her thoughts then. He did now.
He's here, Hana thought in the way people think to themselves when they're not sure if thinking is allowed. He's here and he's… weirdly calm. His eyes are like pictures. Stop thinking that, Hana. He's six. He is six!
Tyler's mouth twitched. He'd felt it like a tiny nudge: a warmth on the inside of his skull that shouldn't have been there—like overhearing someone's private laugh. He shifted his gaze out the window and pretended to study the thin crack in the sill while the room buzzed around him.
Chris was first. Big grin, hair that refused to be tamed. "I'm Chris! I have a dog named Momo and I throw the ball and I like pancakes," he announced, voice large and delighted.
"Nice to meet you, Chris," Hana said. "Momo, pancakes, and throwing—trio of champions. Draw Momo!"
Chris immediately grabbed a crayon and made a lopsided, happy circle that got two enthusiastic nods from Klein.
Klein's turn was quiet. He set his pencil down with care and spoke softly. "Klein. I like building blocks. I make towers." He blinked at Tyler as though filing him under 'interesting dataset.'
Tyler heard the soft mental hum: patterns,structure,numbers fit together and smiled almost politely to himself. Klein's mind always had that gentle mechanical scent. Tyler made a mental note of him someone who would be useful for plans that required patience.
Noah, uncontainable, bounced and launched into a story about how he climbed a tree on the weekend and nearly touched a bird's nest. Halfway through, he chucked a crayon at Chris, who pretended to be scandalized.
Amaya's voice was the opposite of thunder—quiet, careful. "I'm Amaya. I like flowers and my cat." She colored in small petal shapes and the class fell into a slightly softer rhythm around her calm.
When Kai introduced himself—short, clipped, competitive—Tyler watched the way his hands curled into small fists when he said, "I like running." The thought he heard under the words was sharper: —faster win no one should beat me Kai was small but fierce like a bunched spring.
Eris when her turn came looked at Tyler long enough that the rest of the room felt like a background track. She said her name and then, without drama, "I like listening." Her voice carried a quiet weight more than a statement. Tyler felt it as a string tug in a place that had remembered her before.
A small boy at the back round cheek, souring expression rolled his eyes audibly. He didn't introduce himself with much pride. "I'm Toby," he muttered. His tone had the first, very clean edge of a grudge. Tyler heard it plainly: Everyone's already staring at him what's the point? The thought was small but bright, a little flame of irritation.
Tyler made a tiny, internal note: innocent resentment. Seeds could start from tiny things.
Hana walked between desks, stopping at each to make some flourish of praise. She reached Tyler's desk and peered down at the page. He'd left a light space for now watching being his favorite way to start. "Tyler," she said, voice moderated to syrup, "why don't you tell us what you love? You can draw it here. We'll make a gallery."
He heard the rustle of practised curiosity in her mind: He draws? Is he an art child? Or will he write rules in perfect handwriting? What would that look like? Don't stare. Be calm. Be teacherly. She smiled, the kind that said she already adored him because that was what she did—adore, arrange, protect.
Tyler dipped a crayon into his palm, then another, then turned and started to sketch. He drew lines that weren't childish scribbles small, sure, a house and a family inside it: a little square for the house, a figure for Melissa with knitting in hand, a stooped form for Silas, a small stick for Grandma Viola, two childish scribbles for Steven and Richard, and a tiny round for himself with a dot for the lion keychain on his bag.
Hana's knees went soft the way they do when a person is about to cry at something cute. Her mind betrayed her for a shredded second: He draws his family so perfectly my heart oh no stop, HANA, She pressed her lips together and straightened. "Oh!" she said aloud, forced cheerfulness creeping in. "Tyler, that is… really beautiful. Look at those details! Are those your uncles? Who's that with the knitting? Do you like knitting?" Her sentences tumbled; it was obvious she'd forgot the order of questions, the way people do when they're flustered.
Tyler looked up at her. He'd expected a teacher's praise he hadn't expected the tiny, hysterical spike of feeling that made his cheeks feel warm. Stop it, he thought to himself, extremely adult and extremely ridiculous. Teachers blushing about children was not a useful puzzle to solve.
Hana heard that private admonition a tiny thought sharp as a pin because she did not shield her head like others. Her inner voice went, He hears me. Oh dear. Be normal! Be professional! Don't and she stumbled away towards Klein, cheeks faintly flushed. Tyler stared after her, a new kind of amusement blooming in him: this teacher was a kettle, always about to boil.
"Hey Tyler," Chris said, already leaning over. "Draw me big muscles."
"No," Tyler answered dryly, and the class giggled. Chris pretended to be affronted, then grabbed an orange for his supposed biceps.
Noah sat down beside Tyler with a thump. "You're weird, Ty," he said with all the affection of someone who'd decided a new leader had arrived. "You talk like an adult but you're tiny. That's fun."
"That's not funny," Kai muttered from the next row, scowling.
"And he drew his whole family," Amaya said softly. "It's pretty."
"Pastel people," Klein observed in an unenthused voice that was actually a compliment.
Eris's glance arrived like a soft current. She didn't speak, only watched the way Tyler held the crayon as if it were a tool instead of a toy. He met her look for half a heartbeat and the faintest recognition slid between them. You again, something in his chest said, as if the other timeline had left a breadcrumb.
Hana, still perky, clapped. "All right, artists! Let's rotate. Everyone show your neighbor and tell them one thing you love about your picture."
Toby pushed his drawing toward the boy next to him and snorted. "Mine's better," he said, loud and brittle. His jealous thought pulsed again: Why is he getting attention?
Nobody called Tyler out, but he felt the ripple the tiny, social pressure. He had memory to compare with. He had a man's patience. He had a child's seat.
Lunch arrived like a second ceremony. Paper boxes shuffled, lunchboxes flapped open. Chris offered one half of his sandwich with theatrical generosity. Noah pulled out three dumplings and shoved one into Tyler's hand without asking. Amaya unwrapped a little home-made cake and offered half with trembling pride. Klein took out a small container of cut fruit and arranged them into a tiny, mathematical pattern that he explained calmly.
"Sit with us," Chris said, patting the bench beside him.
Tyler slid off his seat with the ease of someone who had practiced the motion many times. The bench creaked as Noah wedged himself in. "Don't steal my cake," Amaya murmured, not entirely joking.
Kai planted himself at the other end, arms folded, playing the part of the watchful rival. Eris found a space nearby and hovered in a way that felt like gravity present but not interfering. Toby remained isolated, eyes darting.
Hana hovered at the doorway, clipboard in one hand. Her smile was big and teacherly, but the private current had not gone away.
They're all so cute eating look at them oh Tyler with his serious face why does your mouth look like a line right now? Are you okay? Did you eat? You poor small adult!
She blinked, shook her head, and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "Okay, little ones, enjoy! After lunch, we'll have a little game." Her voice was perfectly professional in public; inside, she was a startled, soft creature.
Tyler sat, accepted a dumpling, and chewed. He watched them all the new friends, the small dynamics forming, the first tiny social arrangements and felt that old, strange warmth. This was the place that would teach him how people grew into their habits. This was the place he had once neglected. This time he would watch, learn, and store.
He had one private observation before the bell rang and the trip back to small desks began: people revealed themselves in the smallest ways. A smile could be honest and a thought could be false. A teacher could be a savior and a kettle. He put that in his mental ledger. It might be useful some day.
Noah burped loudly beside him, to the class's delighted scandal. Hana clapped politely. Toby's jaw set; jealousy is patient and hungry.
Tyler swallowed, smiled as politely as he could in that small, boy-size face, and told Noah, "Race you outside later."
Noah's eyes lit up. "Yes!"
From the doorway, Hana watched them run a little figure through his mind, completely unaware that she had become a small, ridiculous puzzle in Tyler's day funny, harmless, and oddly human.
The bell chimed. Class resumed. The first friendships were claimed and flairs of rivalry took their tiny steps. Tyler returned to the window seat as the afternoon sun bent a strip of gold across his desk, and he let the light lie warm on the back of his hand, pretending, very successfully, to be only six.
Afternoon sunlight stretched softly through the window as Hana pulled out a stack of flashcards and almost dropped all of them at once.
"Okay, team! Lightning round time!" she chirped, catching the cards in a very un-lightning-like stumble. "Shapes, colors, maybe some simple math if you're brave. Or if you're Noah."
"I'm ALWAYS brave," Noah declared, puffing out his chest.
"Brave or loud?" Chris teased.
"Both!"
Tyler felt the warmth of the room settle around him—the familiar childish noise, the squeak of chairs, the quiet hum of pencil scratches. His past-life memory flickered again: this exact sunlight, this exact game, this exact feeling of being here but not quite understanding anything.
This time, he understood everything.
Hana picked the first flashcard. "Okay! Who knows this one?"
"It's a triangle," Klein answered without lifting his head.
"It's a try-angle actually," Noah corrected confidently.
Tyler pressed his lips together to avoid laughing.
Hana giggled. "Well, technically… no. But I like the creativity!"
Her mind whispered:Tyler probably knew that before I even held the card up. Oh no, what if I bore him? What if he grows up thinking I'm a boring teacher AHHH stop, Hana, stop.
Tyler's hand froze mid-pencil stroke.
She worries… about that??
He looked at her before he could stop himself.
She looked back.
WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME WITH THAT FACESTOPI'M THE ADULT HEREPROFESSIONAL MODE, HANA, PROFESSIONAL MODE
She dropped the flashcard.
Noah clapped like she'd done a magic trick.
Tyler silently prayed for inner earplugs.
A small commotion brewed near the front row. Toby and another boy were arguing over a seat.
"That's MY spot!"
"No, it's not, you moved!"
"Teacher said I can sit here!"
"Teacher said I can sit here!"
Hana rushed over. "Okay, okay! Let's not reenact a courtroom drama choose rock, paper, scissors."
The boys glared.Played.One won.The loser sat with arms crossed and boiling thoughts:
Tyler wouldn't lose to scissors…
Tyler blinked. …What did I do?
The first ripple of silly childhood envy. Not dangerous—but familiar.
Hana sent Tyler an exhausted, pleading smile as if saying, please don't become another problem child; I can only handle three at once.
He returned a calm nod.
Her mind exploded:OH THANK GOODNESS, he's an angel I love this kid, WAIT, NOT LIKE THAT STOP
Tyler inhaled sharply and looked away.
This woman… is going to be the death of me.
As the final bell rang, students packed up with varying levels of orderliness Klein neatly stacking books, Noah shoving everything in, Amaya checking twice, Kai tying his shoes with unnecessary aggression, Chris humming loudly.
"Tyler, walk with us!" Chris called.
"Yeah!" Noah grabbed his bag and almost tripped. "We're a team now!"
Amaya smiled shyly. "If you want…"
Tyler paused.
In his past life, this moment had meant nothing.Now it felt strangely warm.
"Sure," he said softly.
Hana watched them leave with a proud-teacher expression… and then her inner voice ruined it:
Look at him leading the group… MY LITTLE CLASS PRESIDENT!
Tyler stumbled.
He wasn't even out the door yet.