LIGHTS

The school was nearly empty by 4 PM. Outside, the winter dusk settled over the playground, cold and uninviting. Inside, Room 12 remained lit, warm, and silent except for the scratching of a pen on paper.
Mr. Sen, while packing his books noticed Rohan, still at his desk, staring at his notebook.

"You should go home, Rohan," Mr. Sen said gently.

Rohan shook his head. "I like it here. It's warm."

Mr. Sen hesitated, "your parents must be waiting."

Rohan gave a bitter chuckle, "they won't even notice, they fight all the time. I feel like... I don't exist."The teacher looked at the boy-his fingers gripping the pen too tightly, his eyes shadowed with thoughts he wouldn't voice.

Mr. Sen sat beside him. "Listen, Rohan. Sometimes, home isn't a place-it's a feeling. And sometimes, the people who should see us... don't. But that doesn't mean we are invisible. I see you. And I know, one day, you'll find a place where you belong. Until then, don't let their darkness take away your light."

For the first time, Rohan looked up. The warmth of the room, the steady light-perhaps they were enough, for now. Rohan blinked, then gave a small nod. He picked up his bag and walked out.Later, as Mr. Sen locked the door, he noticed a folded note on Rohan's desk.

"Thank you Sir for keeping the lights on..."