THE LAST LETTER

CHAPTER 10

Graduation rehearsal day came with noise.

Not the normal kind of noise that filled the school corridors with careless laughter, but the loud, restless noise of students who could already taste freedom on their tongues. It was the kind of noise that came from excitement, from relief, from the feeling that life was finally about to open up.

Girls stood in groups, comparing hairstyles and arguing about makeup.

Boys joked loudly about who would cry during graduation and who would pretend not to care.

Teachers walked around with clipboards, shouting instructions, warning everyone not to ruin the rehearsal.

It was supposed to be exciting.

It was supposed to feel like the beginning of something new.

But for Clara Matthews, it felt like the beginning of something she didn’t want.

She walked into the school compound slowly, her uniform perfectly ironed, her hair neatly packed as usual, but her face looked tired in a way she couldn’t hide.

Even if she smiled, her eyes refused to smile with her.

She held her bag close to her chest like it was a shield, because she could feel it.

The whispers.

The looks.

The quiet pauses in conversation whenever she passes.

Some people pretended they didn’t know her.

Some people stared like she was something interesting.

Some people stared like she was guilty.

Clara hated it.

Not because she cared what they thought about her.

But because she knew who they were talking about.

Thomas.

The boy whose name was now a rumour in everybody’s mouth.

The boy whose seat was still empty in class.

The boy whose absence had become louder than any presence.

As Clara approached the assembly hall, she saw the graduation gowns hanging on the side wall, arranged in rows–white and gold.

The sight made something twist inside her chest.

She remembered how Thomas had once laughed quietly and said he didn’t care about gowns or ceremonies, that he only cared about passing and getting out of poverty.

And she remembered how she had smiled at him and told him that one day, he would wear suits, not uniforms.

One day, people would clap for him.

Now, his name wasn’t even being spoken with respect.

The Next day was supposed to be their day.

The day they would stand side by side and collect their certificates.

The day they would smile at each other across the hall like two people who had survived something difficult.

The day Thomas would finally feel like all his sleepless nights had meant something.

But now…

Tomorrow was coming, and Thomas was still behind bars.

Clara swallowed hard and forced herself to move.

When she stepped into the hall, it was already crowded.

Students were being arranged according to their names.

A teacher stood at the front, holding a microphone.

“Everybody, line up properly! This is a rehearsal, not a party!”

The students groaned and laughed.

Clara stood in her line quietly.

Maya Kenneth stood beside her, chewing gum slowly like she was trying to pretend everything was normal. But her eyes kept darting around, and Clara could tell she was also uncomfortable.

“You okay?” Maya whispered.

Clara nodded, but it was a lie.

Maya leaned closer.

“I heard something,” she said softly.

Clara’s stomach tightened.

“What?”

Maya hesitated, then lowered her voice more.

“They said Thomas’s name has been removed from the graduation list.”

Clara froze.

For a moment, she didn’t hear anything else in the hall.

Not the teacher’s voice.

Not the laughter.

Not the sound of shoes dragging on the floor.

Just those words.

Removed.

Clara blinked slowly.

“No,” she whispered.

Maya’s face was serious.

“I swear.”

Clara’s throat tightened.

“They can’t do that,” she said, almost to herself.

Maya’s voice was quiet.

“Clara… they already did.”

Clara swallowed hard, forcing her breathing to remain steady.

But her hands were trembling.

Thomas was not only in custody.

They were trying to erase him.

They were trying to make it look like he never existed.

Like he was never brilliant.

Like he was never top of the class.

Like he was never worth remembering.

The teacher’s voice cut through the hall again.

“When I call your name, you walk forward, stand straight, collect the imaginary certificate, and bow. Don’t embarrass yourselves here tomorrow!”

The students laughed again.

Clara didn’t.

The teacher began calling names.

One by one.

People stepped forward.

Some walked proudly.

Some walked shyly.

Some walked like they were already imagining their parents clapping.

Clara stood still, watching everything like it was happening in a dream she couldn’t wake up from.

Then the teacher called her name.

“Clara Matthews!”

Clara’s body moved before her mind could catch up.

She stepped forward.

Her feet felt heavy.

She walked to the front and stood where she was told to stand.

The teacher smiled.

“Good. Very good posture.”

Clara forced a smile.

But inside, she felt sick.

Because she could almost hear Thomas’s voice in her head.

You look like someone that belongs on a stage.

She remembered how he used to look at her in class, like she was something too beautiful for his world.

Like she was a dream he didn’t deserve.

She bowed slightly and stepped away.

As she returned to her line, her eyes drifted to the empty space in the hall.

The space where Thomas should have been standing.

And suddenly, she couldn’t breathe properly.

Maya touched her elbow quickly.

“Clara, don’t cry here,” she whispered.

Clara blinked, and only then did she realize her eyes were wet.

She wiped them quickly.

“I’m fine,” she lied again.

But she wasn’t.

She wasn’t fine.

Not when Thomas was sitting behind iron bars while she was rehearsing a graduation he might never attend.

Not when her life was still moving forward like nothing had happened, while his life was being crushed slowly.

Not when she could feel the invisible rope her parents had tied around her neck.

At the police station, time moved differently.

It didn’t move like normal days.

It dragged.

Thomas sat on the cold floor of the cell, his back pressed against the wall.

The air smelled like sweat, old cement, and hopelessness.

There was no fan.

Only the constant sound of other prisoners talking, coughing, groaning, laughing like madness.

Thomas’s eyes were dull.

Tired of explaining his innocence to people who had already decided his guilt.

Tired of hearing the word “case” as if his life was just a file on someone’s table.

Tired of hearing policemen laugh at him.

One officer had even said it openly the previous day.

“You poor boys like chasing rich girls. Now see your life.”

His mother visited him whenever she could.

She came with food.

But each time she came, her eyes looked more tired.

More swollen.

More defeat.

And that hurt Thomas more than the hunger.

Because he was used to suffering.

But seeing his mother suffer because of him…

That was the kind of pain that broke a man quietly.

On that day, she came again.

She stood outside the cell bars, gripping them tightly.

“Thomas…” she whispered.

Thomas stood up slowly and walked closer.

“Mom.”

Her lips trembled.

“I went to another lawyer today,” she said quickly. “He said… he said we need to pay before anything can start.”

Thomas’s jaw tightened.

“How much?”

She didn’t answer immediately.

She only shook her head, tears building.

Thomas already understood.

Too much.

Always too much.

Mrs. Jensen wiped her face quickly, like she didn’t want him to see her weakness.

“I’m trying,” she whispered. “I’m trying so hard.”

Thomas stared at her.

His throat tightened painfully.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

His mother shook her head aggressively.

“No. Don’t say that.”

Her voice broke.

“Don’t ever say that.”

Thomas swallowed hard, then his eyes narrowed slightly.

“Mom…” he said quietly.

She sniffed.

“Yes?”

Thomas hesitated.

Then he asked the question that had been burning him for days.

“Where is Dad?”

His mother froze.

Her face shifted instantly, like someone had poured cold water on her.

Thomas stared harder.

“He hasn’t come,” he continued. “Not once. Not even to see me.”

Mrs. Jensen’s eyes dropped.

Thomas’s voice became lower.

“Did he abandon us?”

His mother shook her head quickly, but the truth was already sitting on her face.

Thomas’s chest tightened.

“Mom, talk to me.”

Mrs. Jensen swallowed, her throat moving painfully.

“He… he left,” she whispered.

Thomas went still.

“What do you mean he left?” he asked.

Mrs. Jensen’s voice cracked.

“After that morning… after the arrest… he said he couldn’t take it. He said he warned me. He said I allowed you to bring trouble into this house.”

Thomas stared at her like he didn’t understand.

“He left the house?” he asked again, slower this time.

Mrs. Jensen nodded, tears spilling.

“He said he was disappointed,” she whispered. “He said he doesn’t want to be involved.”

Thomas’s whole body felt cold.

For a moment, he couldn’t even breathe.

His father.

The man who always acted tough.

The man who always spoke like pride was everything.

Had left him here.

Like he was nothing.

“So he abandoned you too,” he said.

Mrs. Jensen rushed closer to the bars.

“No, Thomas, he didn’t abandon me”.

“He did,” Thomas interrupted.

His voice was shaking.

“He left you alone to suffer. He left me here like I’m a stranger.”

Mrs. Jensen wiped her tears quickly.

“Please, don’t say that,” she begged.

Thomas’s eyes burned.

“So it’s only you,” he whispered.

Mrs. Jensen nodded slowly.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s only me. But I will not leave you. Never.”

Thomas looked at her.

His chest tightened.

And for the first time since he was arrested, tears fell from his eyes.

Not because he was weak.

But because he was tired of being strong.

Mrs. Jensen cried too, holding the bars like she wished she could break them open.

Then Thomas wiped his face and whispered,

“Have you heard from Clara?”

His mother’s face changed again.

Thomas noticed immediately.

And his heart dropped.

“Mom…” he whispered. “Have you heard from her?”

Mrs. Jensen looked away.

“She has been calling,” she admitted softly.

Thomas’s head snapped up.

“She has?” he asked quickly.

Mrs. Jensen nodded.

“She calls me almost every night,” she said. “She said she is still begging her parents. She keeps saying you will be out soon.”

Thomas’s chest rose.

Hope tried to enter.

But it was weak.

Because hope had disappointed him too many times already.

“She calls you…” he repeated, almost like he couldn’t believe it.

Mrs. Jensen nodded again.

“She cries, Thomas,” she whispered. “She cries like someone dying. She keeps saying she didn’t know it would get this bad.”

Thomas swallowed hard.

Then Thomas whispered,

“What about graduation?”

Mrs. Jensen’s lips trembled.

“ Your graduation is tomorrow and you won't be able to attend,” she said almost in tears.

Thomas’s heart sank again.

Tomorrow.

He had worked for that day.

He had bled for it.

He had dreamed of it.

And now he will be here.

Behind bars.

“I'm sorry mum”. He cried.

“Honestly… after everything that has happened, I don’t ever want to see you getting close to that family again,” his mother said quietly, her voice heavy with pain and finality.