FAMILIAR SCENT

Rule Number Eight

Tuesday came with rain. Not the heavy thunder rain that makes my mother worry, but a small, thin drizzle that made the banyan tree leaves shine and the college ground smell like wet earth.

I woke up at 5:45 AM this time. Even earlier than yesterday. My mother did not even come to my room yet. I was already ironing my uniform and checking my maths formula notebook. I had promised Ethan ten minutes meeting before test. Rule number eight, he said. Mandatory even on test days.

I reached college at 8:15. Fifteen minutes early. Ethan was already there. Of course. He was sitting under the banyan tree with an umbrella that was too small for him, his shirt half wet, his hair more messy than usual because of rain, and our blue shoe box on his lap, wrapped in a plastic cover.

"You came," he said, surprised, like he did not expect me to follow his rule.

"Rule number eight, right? Meetings mandatory. You made it. I have to follow," I said, sitting down next to him. The bench was wet. We both did not care.

He opened the box and showed me the passbook. Still Rs 4900. Safe. Dry. "I checked balance at 7 AM. Before you came. Still same. No thief in night. My roommate wanted to see it, I said no. This is top secret house fund. Only for partners."

"Good. Did you study for maths?"

He made a face. The Ethan face he makes when professor asks question he does not know. "I studied. Sort of. I studied formulas till 11 PM. Then my roommate snored so loud I could not study after that. So I wrote formulas on my hand so I will not forget."

He showed me his palm. Small blue ink letters: a2 + b2 = c2, and (a+b)2, and something that looked like a drawing of a toffee, not a formula.

"This is not maths, Ethan. This is toffee," I said.

"That is for good luck. Toffee formula. If I forget maths formula, I will remember toffee sharing formula. Half for you, half for me. Always equal. That one I never forget."

We both laughed. The rain got a little heavier.

He took out his maths notebook, which was wet at corners. "Okay, teach me quickly. Ten minutes. What is that thing where x finds y? And why are they always searching each other? Cannot they just meet and finish?"

"That is linear equation," I said, opening my notebook. My handwriting was neat, his was like spider walked on page.

For next fifteen minutes, not ten, we did maths under banyan tree. He was actually good. When he focused, he remembered everything. He solved three problems that I could not solve last night. He explained them to me in his way.

"See, Emma. X is like me. Always lost. Y is like you. Always knows where to go. So X needs Y to find value. If X does not have Y, X is zero. Useless. So X must find Y."

I stared at him. "Ethan, that is actually... correct. In a weird way, but correct."

"I am genius. B plus genius," he said, proudly closing notebook.

The college bell rang at 8:50. We ran to class, both half wet, carrying shoe box and passbook and toffee wrappers.

Maths test was at 9:30. Professor Harris is not actually maths professor, but our maths professor is Mr. Das, who is very strict. He does not smile like Professor Harris. He gives zero if you talk.

Test started. Paper was hard. Five questions. Two from chapters I did not study properly. I looked at Ethan two rows ahead. He was writing fast. His hand moving, his back straight. For once he was not looking around, not making faces.

I tried to remember his X and Y story. X is like me. Y is like you. X needs Y to find value. I solved one problem with that logic. It worked.

After test, at 11 AM, we met again at banyan tree. Rain had stopped. Sun came out weak.

"How was test?" I asked, sitting down, still nervous.

"I wrote all five," he said. "I think I will get B. Maybe B plus. What about you?"

"I left one question half. But four I did okay. Thanks to your X and Y story."

He opened box again. Took out two toffees. "Celebration. Rule number seven. One toffee per test. Even if we fail, we celebrate trying."

"There is no rule that we celebrate failing," I said.

"Now there is. Rule number nine: Every test, pass or fail, deserves toffee. To keep brain sweet."

We ate toffees. Half each.

At lunch break, something unexpected happened. Two girls from our class, Priya and Sana, who never talked to us before festival, came to our bench. They had seen our art block win.

"Hi Emma, hi Ethan," Priya said. "We loved your decoration. It was so beautiful. Can we sit here? We want to ask how you made those paper cranes. We want to make for our little sister's birthday."

Ethan looked at me, shocked. Usually no one comes to our bench. It is known as the lonely bench, the invisible bench.

I said, "Yes, sit. I can teach you. It is easy. You need square paper."

For next twenty minutes, I taught them how to fold cranes. Ethan taught them how to hang fairy lights without falling. Priya was good at folding, Sana was bad and laughed at her own bad cranes. We laughed together. Four people on a bench that usually had two.

After they left, Ethan said quietly, "We have new friends."

"Yes," I said.

"Is that because we won? Or because bench is lucky?"

"Because we stopped being invisible," I said. "Like Professor Harris said. We made art block best. People noticed."

He nodded. He looked at the empty bench space where Priya and Sana sat. "I like this. But I also like when it is just us. Is that selfish?"

"No. I like just us too. But sharing is okay. Like toffee."

"Half for us, half for others. New rule."

At 4 PM, after college, we did not go to bank. We had already opened account. Instead, we went to the lane behind college where there is a small stationery shop. The old man there sells paper, pens, and old books.

Ethan had an idea. "We have 4900 in bank. But we have 100 rupees pocket money toffee fund. Let us buy something for house fund. Not house, but something small. For future house."

"What?"

"Something we can keep in future house. First decoration. Like we decorated art block. For our house next door. When we buy it."

We went inside. Shop was small, dusty, full of smell of old paper. We looked around. There were photo frames, small plant pots, wind chimes.

I saw a small wooden frame, simple, brown, with space for one photo. It cost 80 rupees.

"This," I said. "For first photo of our house. When we buy it, we will put photo here."

Ethan saw a small ceramic pot, white, with a small green leaf painted on it. It cost 90 rupees. "This, for plant. Every house needs plant near window. Like our paper cranes near window. So we have real plant."

We had only 100 rupees total between us. We could buy only one.

We argued like we used to argue at ten years old.

"Frame is better," I said.

"Pot is better," he said.

Shopkeeper old man looked at us and said, "Why not both? You both look like you argue a lot. Buy both, 150, I give discount. For award winners. I saw your art block photo in college group."

We looked at each other. We had 100 rupees, but if we add 50 from tomorrow's pocket money... we could.

"Okay," Ethan said. "We buy both. 80 + 90 = 170, but uncle gives discount 150. So we need 50 more. We will bring tomorrow."

Old man smiled. "Okay, I keep for you. Reserve. No one else will buy. You come tomorrow with 150. I trust you. You are joint account holders, no? I heard from bank manager. He is my brother."

We both blushed. News travels fast in small college.

We walked back to banyan tree bench. Box still there. Passbook still there.

Ethan took out his notebook and wrote: "Rule Number Ten: Every month, we buy one small thing for future house. With pocket money. Not from house fund. House fund is for brick. Pocket money is for decoration."

"That is actually a good rule," I said, surprised.

"I make good rules sometimes," he said. "When I am not making silly rules like on-time rule."

"Rule six was good. We came on time today because of it."

He smiled. That soft smile, not loud laugh. "So you like my rules?"

"Some of them," I said. "Rule seven about toffee, rule eight about mandatory meetings, rule ten about house decoration. Those are good."

"What about rule number one to five? From festival napkin?"

"Those were silly. Rule number one: No fighting over toffees. We still fight. Rule number two: Partners must share fries. You ate more fries. Rule number three..."

"Okay, okay, I get it. First five rules were childish. New rules are adult. I am growing up. Becoming house fund manager, remember?"

We sat till 6 PM whistle. Rain smell still in air.

At gate, he said, "Tomorrow same time? No test tomorrow. So we can meet fifteen minutes, not ten. And we buy frame and pot."

"Yes. And we need to bring 50 rupees extra."

"I will bring. I saved from not buying noodles this week. I have 30. You bring 20."

"Deal."

On bus home, I kept thinking about wooden frame and ceramic pot. 150 rupees for future house that costs 50 lakhs. It sounds crazy to anyone else. But not to us. For us, it was not crazy. It was first decoration.

At home, Mom asked, "How was maths test?"

"Okay. I did four questions. Ethan helped me in morning under tree."

"Good. He is good at maths. His mother said he got B plus last time. She was so happy she made extra potato curry."

I smiled. Mothers talking about sons' grades. Same as always, just different houses.

Phone buzzed at 7 PM. Ethan: "I told mom about frame and pot. She said pot is better. She said frame will have no photo till we buy house, but pot can have plant from tomorrow. She is wise, like you said. But I still think frame is better. What do you think?"

I typed: "I think mom is right. Pot can have plant tomorrow. Frame needs to wait ten years. Let's buy pot first, frame next month."

He replied: "Okay. Pot first. Rule number eleven: Listen to wise mothers. They are always right."

I laughed. "You keep making rules."

"And you keep following them. Good partnership."

I kept phone near pillow again. Outside, rain had stopped completely. Sky clear. Stars coming out one by one.

I thought about tomorrow. Pot for 90 rupees. Plant inside. Small green leaf painted on white pot, but soon real green leaf will grow inside. And in ten years, that plant will be big, and maybe it will be in real house next door, on real windowsill, next to real paper cranes.

And maybe, dreams really do start with one brick. And one pot. And one toffee at a time.

And our story continues tomorrow at four o'clock, under banyan tree, with frame and pot and rule number twelve.