FAMILIAR SCENT

The First Photo

Thursday was the day we were supposed to pay 30 rupees debt to stationery uncle. I woke up at 6 AM again, but this time with worry, not excitement. I had only 10 rupees left from pocket money. Ethan had 30 yesterday, but he told me at night on phone that he spent 10 on a toffee for his roommate who was sad because his girlfriend did not reply.

So together we had 40, but we needed 30, so we were okay, but only just. We would have no money left for Friday if we paid full.

I reached college at 8:30. Ethan was already at banyan tree bench, counting coins on his palm, his eyebrows tight. 5 rupee coins, 2 rupee coins, one 10 rupee note that was torn at corner and taped with cello tape.

"I have 25 only," he said, worried, not looking up. "I had 30 yesterday, but I gave 5 to canteen lady for extra fries yesterday for Priya and Sana, I forgot to tell you. Sorry. I wanted bench to have extra fries for guests. Like good hosts."

"I have 10," I said, opening my small purse. "So 35 total. We need 30. So we have 5 left for toffee. We are still okay. Debt first, toffee second."

He smiled, relieved, his shoulders dropping. "Okay, 30 to uncle, 5 for toffee. Perfect. Rule number thirteen: Always pay debt first, toffee second. Never forget debt."

"Good rule," I said. "Write it in notebook."

We went to stationery shop at 8:45 before class. Uncle was there, opening shop, putting newspapers on stand, arranging pens in old glass box.

"Good morning, joint account holders," he said, laughing, his lungi folded up. "Did plant grow overnight? Did it become big tree?"

"Not yet, uncle. But it has three leaves and three wishes," Ethan said, and gave him 30 rupees, counting carefully: 10 + 10 + 5 + 5, placing each coin on uncle's palm slowly.

Uncle took it and counted again, then put in his box. "Paid full. 140 total cleared. No debt now. You are honest. Like bank people. Good. Many students take things and never come back. You came back next day morning. With exact change."

We walked back to bench, happy, debt free, with 5 rupees left in my palm, warm from holding.

At bench, shoe box was there, where we left it under shade yesterday, covered with a dry banyan leaf to hide it. But something was different. The newspaper wrapping for frame was open. Someone had opened it. And inside, the wooden frame had something inside it. Not empty, not blank. A drawing.

We opened quickly. It was a drawing of a small house, with two windows, a blue gate, and a big banyan tree in front with hanging roots. And two stick figures under tree, one with long hair, one with messy hair, holding a pot with plant that had three leaves. At bottom, written in small careful letters: "House Next Door - For Emma & Ethan - From Stationery Uncle & Bank Manager - Good Luck - First Photo"

We stared. Tears came instantly, both of us, without warning. Hot tears in hot morning.

"Uncle drew this? And bank manager?" I asked, voice shaking, holding frame with both hands.

Ethan nodded, unable to speak for a second, his throat tight. "They... they made first photo for our frame. So frame is not empty now. It has house. Our future house. Even before we buy, we have photo."

We ran to bank to thank manager. Manager was there, watering our money plant with a small plastic bottle that had a hole in cap. He saw us with frame and drawing and smiled, a shy smile, like he was caught doing something secret.

"Oh, you saw? My brother drew house, I wrote letters. My handwriting better. His drawing better. So we partnered, like you both. Partners in crime. We thought frame looks sad empty. Every frame needs photo. So we gave first photo. It is not real house, but it is real dream. Dreams also need photo."

"Thank you, uncle. Thank you so much," I said, holding frame tight to my chest.

"Don't thank. My brother told me you paid 30 rupees honest, even when you had only 35. That is big honesty. In this college, many students don't pay 5 rupees debt for months. You paid 30 next morning. So we thought, you deserve first photo. Even if house is not real yet, drawing is real. Keep it till you buy real house and put real photo. Then you will remember this day."

We kept frame with drawing on bench and looked at it for a long time. Small house with blue gate, like Ethan's small house now, but bigger, like my old house next door that we left six years ago when he shifted.

Bell rang at 9 AM. We went to class, frame safe in box, wrapped again, but now with drawing inside, not empty.

During lunch, Priya and Sana came again, plus two more girls now, Maya and Rina, who we barely knew before festival. They saw frame with drawing on bench where we kept it to show.

"Wow, who drew house? So cute! Blue gate! And banyan tree! Is this your house?" Maya said, picking it up carefully.

"Stationery uncle and bank manager drew. They are our partners now too," Ethan said proudly, chest out. "This is first photo for future house. House next door. Our dream house."

"You both have many partners now," Priya said, laughing, sitting down. "Banyan bench is now famous bench. Everyone wants to sit here. Yesterday it was two people, today six people. Tomorrow full college will come."

And it was true. Our lonely bench, which was invisible for two years, where teachers never saw us, where no one sat, now had six people at lunch. All looking at pot plant in bank window from far, and frame with house drawing on bench, and shoe box with passbook.

At 4 PM, after college, we went to bank to water plant. Plant had same three leaves, but looked fresher, greener, stronger, like it knew it had new friends. Manager said, "See, I did not kill. One day safe. Many days to go. My wife will be surprised. She said I kill every plant. This one is alive because you both come daily."

We watered, small amount, not too much, gardener uncle taught us, just 30 ml, like small tea cup.

At 6 PM whistle, at gate, Ethan said, "Today we have no debt, we have plant with three leaves, we have frame with house drawing. We are rich. Richest students in college."

"We have 5 rupees left," I said, showing coin in palm.

"For toffee. Half half. Old rule. Always share," he said.

We bought one mango toffee for 5 rupees from canteen lady, who saw our frame and said, "Oh, house drawing! Very nice!" and gave extra toffee free because we are award winners. So we had two toffees. One we ate half half at gate, breaking exactly, one we kept for tomorrow's meeting.

On bus home, I kept frame with drawing in bag, carefully between notebooks so it would not break, not pot, because pot is in bank safe on window. I looked at drawing again and again through plastic. Small house with blue gate, two windows, banyan tree, two stick figures.

At home, Mom saw frame when I took out. "What is this? Did you buy frame?"

"First photo for future house. Uncle drew. For our frame. Stationery uncle and bank manager together."

She took it and looked long, her eyes soft. "This is beautiful. This is exactly like your old lane house, Emma. The blue gate, the banyan tree that used to be in front of your house when you were kids. How did uncle know? Did you tell him?"

"He didn't know. But he drew our dream. And dream looks same for everyone, I think. Small house, blue gate, tree, two friends under tree."

Mom hugged me. "Keep it safe. First photo is important. When you were born, your father and I also kept first photo in small frame like this. It was your first day photo. Now you have first house photo before house."

Phone buzzed at 7 PM. Ethan: "I showed drawing to my mom. She cried. She said this house looks like our old old house, before we shifted to small house after father lost job. She said blue gate same. She said she also wants to live in house next door again, near your mom. She said thank you to uncle and manager. She said she will make potato curry extra tomorrow for thank you."

I typed: "Tell aunty her wish will come true. Plant has three leaves, three wishes. My wish was bench forever, your wish was house next door, plant's wish maybe is that mothers live next door again too. So all wishes together."

He replied: "Yes! Plant is wise. Like mothers. Rule number fourteen: Plants make best wishes. And mothers make wishes come true."

I laughed and kept frame on my windowsill, next to paper cranes. Now windowsill had two cranes and one frame with small house drawing. Three things catching evening light and making shadows.

Outside, sky clear. No rain. No debt. Only small white pot with three leaves in bank window, growing slowly, and small brown frame with house drawing on my windowsill, waiting for real photo but already feeling real.

And maybe one drawing is enough to make empty frame full. And maybe one honesty is enough to make strangers become partners. And maybe one bench is enough to make whole college become friends.

And our story continues tomorrow at four o'clock, with 5 rupees and two toffees and a house that is still drawing but feels more real than many real houses