The Last Bench Girl - By Azalea

Written By: Azalea

Category: Short Story

Competition: Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the evocative short story "The Last Bench Girl," Azalea, writing under the pseudonym "The Last Bench Girl," invites readers into the world of Seetha, a young girl navigating the complexities of identity and societal expectations. This narrative is featured in the Short Story category of the Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar. Set against the backdrop of a government school in Kunjappanai, the story unfolds themes of self-discovery and silent rebellion, illustrating the power of questions in shaping one's destiny.

About the Work

Azalea's "The Last Bench Girl" is a poignant exploration of a young girl's journey towards self-awareness. Through Seetha's eyes, readers experience the quiet strength required to question and redefine one's identity within a restrictive environment. The narrative is rich with imagery, from the cracked walls of the school to the misty fog on the cliffs, symbolizing Seetha's internal struggle and burgeoning courage. The story's mood shifts from despair to hope, emphasizing the transformative power of inquiry and the courage to choose one's path.

The Last Bench Girl

Original Submission by Azalea

The Last Bench Girl

The government school of Kunjappanai has the same cracked walls, the same old wooden benches and the same faded paintings. On one side, the students are standing at attention, singing the national anthem, and on the other, the teachers stand respectfully during the anthem. The assembly ends, and the students return to their respective classes.

In the eighth class, there were only thirty students: twelve girls and the rest boys. Among them was Seetha, sitting at the last bench, with no hope about the future. She thinks the first benches are for those who can achieve great things, something she felt excluded from. The last bench isn't easily noticeable for anyone, so she would be like an invisible person to the class.

Her father is a farmer and tribal head who rules the tribe. Her mother is a sweet but submissive woman who respects and obeys her husband. Seetha didn't have any expectations, as she grew up in an environment where it was expected that, after she finished school, she would get married to some boy from her tribe.

Her neighbour's aunt's son already has his eye on her; even the boy's mother encourages him by telling him, “Seetha is your future wife.” Seetha blushes but feels indifferent about him. Her tribe has encouraged her not to dream big, just to pass her classes.

Until one day, a new teacher arrived. Her name was Meera. No drama, no big speeches and no strict rules. She came and asked a simple question: “What would India be like when you are thirty years old?”

The first-bench students replied, “a developed country”.

“Good, but what does that mean?”

“Big building, job opportunities…”

“What would you be in it?”

Everyone went silent. Meera's gaze shifted to the last bench. Seetha noticed and, frightened, softly said, “Wife.” Everyone laughed, but Meera didn't.

The bell rang. Everyone left hurriedly and joyfully, shouting. Seetha was leaving silently and slowly, keeping her head down. Meera called her. Seetha hesitated but slowly moved towards her.

“Wife is a role; it doesn't define who you are. Think!” Meera smiled warmly.

For the first time, Seetha was thinking. On her way home, she was asking herself, who is she, really? She went to a cliff and saw the whole world, blurred by the misty fog, like her own mind.

That night, Seetha asked her mother, “What would you have wanted to be when you were young?”

“Girls like us…” Her mother laughed mildly, “weren’t asked what we wanted to be.” That was the end of the conversation.

For the first time, she opened her notebook, not for homework, but to write. She couldn't write, as there were many questions going on in her mind; she couldn't frame them in a single sentence. And finally, she wrote, What if I am not what they say I am?

It looked strange on paper: fragile but dangerous and freeing.

The revolution didn't shout. It started quietly. She started thinking. She started questioning herself. She started finding out who she really was.

The next day, the school looked the same with the cracked walls. The blackboard was covered with dust from yesterday's chalk. Seetha went and sat on the last bench to be invisible again.

As Meera entered, Seetha felt her presence and a slight sense of indifference in a positive way. Meera didn't open the textbook; she took a piece of chalk and wrote, What are you right now? She then said, “Take your paper and write.”

The students took a paper and wrote, I am a student. I am a daughter. I am the topper. But Seetha hesitated to write; her hands trembled, and she questioned herself about who she actually is. Soon she wrote, I don't know who I am.

Meera was walking around, noticing the students' answers and smiling at them. Then her eyes shifted to Seetha, who looked as if she were in deep thought. She went near her bench and noticed what she had written. Seetha was scared and hurriedly hid it with her hands, but Meera had already seen it, so she came closer to her and whispered in her ear, “Good.”

Meera went to the front of the class and said, “I have read all of your answers. Among you, Seetha's answer is the bravest.”

Seetha was shocked. All of her classmates were looking at her. One of the boys sitting in the front row asked, “What is the answer?”

Meera smiled gently and said, “I don't know who I am.” Seetha blushed and tried to hide from the gaze of her classmates. Meera continued, “Because she started asking.” Everyone was puzzled by the answer, but no one questioned it.

Meera looked at their puzzled faces and then asked another question: “What do you see when you look out at the people around you?”

Everyone wondered. Meera asked them to close their eyes and visualise what was surrounding them. Seetha hesitated first; then she slowly closed her eyes and visualised her father walking to the fields every morning, his dominant eyes and never-bending bold posture. Then she imagined her mother, quietly moving through the house, her laughter folded into her silence. Then she saw herself standing on the cliff, staring at the fog.

“What did you see?” Meera asked.

Seetha opened her eyes and said, “People who don't ask questions.” Her voice was shaking but steady enough.

The whole class turned and went silent, as this was not the Seetha they knew. Meera nodded and asked, “And what happens when they don't ask questions?”

“They... stay the same,” Seetha replied.

“Exactly.”

Days passed, and the classroom didn't look the same. Meera started asking questions to everyone, including Seetha. Seetha hesitated initially to answer. Her voice cracked, but something was developing inside her: not confidence, not boldness, but courage.

Seetha started writing every night. Not homework, not answers, but the questions.

Why do girls not question?

Why is silence taught only to girls?

Why is fear passed down to girls like a tradition?

Her notebook was not filled with fury or rebellion but with revolution.

One day, Meera told the students to prepare a speech on Who I choose to become... The first-bench students smiled as if this were their favourite territory to be impressed with. Seetha panicked. Her chest tightened. The fog in her mind thickened. She could hear the sound of her heart pounding faster.

That night, Seetha couldn't sleep. She got up and went near a window, looking at the stars sparkling peacefully across the sky. She thought to herself, “Who I choose to become…” The words felt heavy and dangerous, but then she realised no one had ever asked her to choose before.

On the day of the speeches, every student buzzed with preparation. Meera entered, and the class became quiet. One by one they came forth and gave a speech, followed by applause.

“I want to become a doctor…”

“I want to become an engineer…”

“I want to become a pilot…”

Then Meera called Seetha. She got up slowly. Her legs were weak and shaking; still, she moved forward, breaking every invisible chain. She stood before the class with a notebook in her hand. For a moment, she stood still. Then she inhaled a long breath and began. “I was told,” she said softly, “I will become a wife.”

Students exchanged glances and started laughing. Seetha became nervous. Meera shouted, “Silence! Seetha, continue.” She smiled warmly at her, which was the impetus for Seetha to continue.

“But no one told me who I really was before.”

The room grew still. Seetha continued, “I didn't know I could ask questions. I didn't know I could think about myself. I didn't know that... I could choose.”

She took a long breath. “But now, I know one thing.”

Students came closer and listened carefully. “I am not the person that they decided for me.”

A pause. “I have not chosen yet, but I am becoming what I am. Right now I have slowly started asking questions. Maybe it looks like a rebellion, but I am what I am. Yet, I am learning and finding who I am. I know I am becoming something, not the silence of indifference, but the impact.”

Everyone stood up and applauded. Meera got up and patted her shoulder and said, “Excellent.”

For the first time, a girl from the last bench had spoken, and everyone had listened. The revolution was not loud, but something deeper shifted. The last bench was no longer invisible. And Seetha? She still sat on the last bench, not for hiding but as a place for beginnings.

About the Competition

The Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a celebration of literary talent, offering a platform for writers across genres to showcase their creativity and voice. This competition seeks to highlight diverse narratives and innovative storytelling, fostering a community of writers who push the boundaries of conventional writing. Participants are invited to submit their works, contributing to a rich tapestry of literary expression that captivates and inspires.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Azalea for sharing "The Last Bench Girl" with us as part of the Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This profound narrative not only delves into the themes of identity and courage but also encourages readers to reflect on their own journeys. Your contribution, Azalea, is a testament to the power of storytelling in illuminating the human experience. We look forward to seeing more of your inspiring work in the future.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.