Grade 11, Centurion College
The final bell of the school year echoed through the halls, a sound that marked the start of summer for most students. For Liam, it felt more like an ending than a beginning.
He stood by the window of the empty classroom, holding a crumpled piece of notebook paper. Around him, desks sat quiet and still, and the whiteboard still displayed the words “Have a Great Summer!” scribbled in cheerful, fading marker.
Liam folded the paper slowly, carefully creasing each line. It was the last paper plane he would make in this classroom. Mr Bennett, his favourite teacher, had announced last week that he was retiring. That hit Liam harder than he expected. Mr Bennett wasn’t just a teacher—he was the one who noticed when Liam was having a bad day, who encouraged his love for writing, and who always had time to talk.
As the plane took shape, Liam remembered the first time he had stayed after class to ask Mr Bennett a question. He’d been nervous, shy, unsure. But Mr Bennett had listened like Liam’s words mattered. That small moment had changed everything.
The plane was finished now—simple, sharp, and light.
Liam stepped closer to the window, opened it, and felt the warm breeze rush in. He held the paper plane out and whispered, “Thank you.”
Then, he let it fly.
It soared out into the open air, catching the wind, twisting, gliding. Liam watched it until it was just a dot against the summer sky, then finally disappeared.
He smiled.
Later that day, Mr Bennett found the paper plane resting in the grass near the teacher’s parking lot. He unfolded it gently. Inside, written in Liam’s careful handwriting, was a single sentence:
“You helped me believe in myself. I’ll never forget that.”
Mr Bennett stood there for a long moment, the wind tugging at his sleeves, and smiled.