It was a park, though it hardly qualified as one. There was a narrow path running through it, two old benches opposite each other were shaded by some ancient trees, and the narrow foot-worn path served as a shortcut to school, for many students.
For me, it was a place to walk through, especially when I was running late or when I didn't want to use the school's front gate.
Yet, Mr. Bello always sat on that same bench almost every morning, with a book in his hands and a brown suit that was too stiff for this tranquil place. His hawk-like eyes behind his glasses watching every student that walked by.
But I disliked him. Intensely.
He was, by far, the harshest teacher in the school. He demanded essays twice as long, used the red ink like he really enjoyed using it, and insisted ninety was “falling short” — I mean ninety out of a hundred.
I was one of the best in the class, and the best in his subject — English Language, and with that came the most criticism. This infuriated me greatly. Every single day, “You can do better.” These words stung like no other.
During the lunch break one afternoon, after yet another stinging correction, I stormed out of the class and found myself in the park. I threw my bag onto the bench opposite me, planning to cry my heart out.
Seconds later I saw him making his way towards me. I quickly took my bag to leave when I heard him say;
“Running away doesn’t make you less brilliant."
“Why do you hate me so much?” I snapped, “I work hard, and still nothing is good enough for you!”
He studied the pigeons pecking at a piece of wood before replying, “I don’t hate you. I see far more in you than you allow yourself to see. That’s why I push you so hard." He tapped on the notebook in my hand. “The world needs that brilliance.”
I quickly turned away, to hide the tears that were threatening to spill.
A week later, I saw that he had left pamphlets in my desk—scholarship opportunities, university forms.
I didn't even bother to read them, I shoved everything into my bag. I was preparing for my SSSCE examinations and didn't want distractions. Infact I didn't even want anything to do with him, he must have deduced that from my body language.
But that didn't deter him.
One afternoon, out of curiosity, I asked, “Why do you keep leaving these in my desk?”
"It's your way forward," he said. "I feel your future is bigger than this little town. And money should not be the reason you stop. Apply for the scholarships and if you need my help for anything, just let me know."
I laughed; “I don't think I can win something like that."
He smiled, "You think too small. Haven't you heard the saying? Some things are written in the stars. You don't fight the stars. You just follow them."
The words stuck.
The bench soon became our "special" spot. During lunch break, I would sit with him while he took me through filling of forms and writing of long essays. He would have me rewrite drafts until my fingers were cramped, corrected my grammar until I wanted to scream, and drilled me with mock interview questions until I simply lost count.
Sometimes he was curt.
“This answer is lazy. Try again.”
Sometimes he was warm.
“This line is beautiful. Stick with it.”
Over time, I started to respect him, not just as my teacher, but as someone who believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself.
One day, with a quivering lip, I asked, “Why me? Why do you care?”
He pushed his glasses up. "Because when I look at you, I see a future far too bright for you to waste. A future already written in the stars."
As the day for the scholarship interview approached. I became so nervous.
"I'm not ready," I whispered during one of our meetings.
"You are," Mr. Bello said strongly. "You have prepared so well. Now trust yourself.
The interview came and went.
Months passed before the letter finally arrived. Congratulations... you have been awarded...
I didn't walk to the park. I ran, waving the piece of paper. "I got it!" I yelled, panting.
Mr. Bello's stony face finally softened into a smile. "I told you," he said proudly." Then his smile widened as he pulled me into a bear hug.
I see myself years from now, returning to the park as a graduate, to the bench weathered with time. I would sit again, running my fingers along the cracks in the wood. The place where it all started.
I smiled through my tears. Tears of gratitude.
Once, I hated Mr. Bello so much. Now, I owed him everything.
Images are AI generated.
🌸My Motto is: Work at making myself proud of myself.🌸
Thank you very much for taking time to read me. Have a wonderful day!
