The final day of 5T arrived quietly.

  No dramatic music.

  No slow motion montage.

  Just sunlight slanting through classroom windows, dust particles drifting in warm afternoon air, and the knowledge that by tomorrow we would no longer sit in the same arrangement.

  I opened my sketchbook without hiding it.

  Penny immediately leaned over.

  “You’re drawing again.”

  “Yes.”

  Leanne folded her arms. “Don’t tell me you’re pretending it’s coincidence again.”

  “I have retired from deception,” I said calmly. “Today, I am drawing the future.”

  They exchanged looks.

  “The future what?” Penny asked.

  “The future you.”

  Silence.

  Leanne blinked. “What?”

  “I am attempting to imagine how both of you will look as adults.”

  Penny’s mouth opened slightly. “Adult version?”

  “Yes. Fully imagined. I will likely never see you again after we leave 5T. So I must rely on projection.”

  Leanne stared at the blank page. “You serious?”

  “Entirely.”

  They shifted closer, elbows nearly touching mine.

  “Will I be tall?” Penny asked immediately.

  “Statistically probable.”

  “Will I have long hair?” Leanne asked, touching her short fringe instinctively.

  “In this version, yes.”

  They were exhilarated.

  For them, adulthood was abstract. Distant. For me, it was memory.

  I had practiced these faces repeatedly the night before. I did not have the luxury of slow perfection today. Only one day remained.

  I began with Penny.

  Her future self emerged first in light graphite lines. The jawline slightly more defined but still gentle. Cheekbones subtly shaped by maturity rather than baby fat. Her eyes remained soft, but sharper in confidence. Long hair cascading past her shoulders in smooth waves, parted slightly to one side.

  I added a faint dimple.

  Penny leaned closer.

  “Why my eyes like that?”

  “They are brighter,” I said. “You will smile more.”

  She went quiet.

  The portrait showed her wearing a simple blouse, elegant but not flashy. The posture upright, shoulders relaxed, hands lightly folded at her waist. The type of composure that suggested calm strength.

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  Leanne could not stay still.

  “Mine?” she whispered impatiently.

  “Patience.”

  On the opposite page, I began her transformation.

  Leanne’s adult version carried sharper edges. Long hair, straight and sleek, flowing down her back. A few strands framing her face deliberately. Her chin slightly lifted. The gaze direct, intelligent, unafraid.

  I defined her eyebrows carefully. Added subtle contour to the bridge of her nose. Her lips held a small knowing smile, not overly sweet, but assured.

  Her posture in the drawing was different from Penny’s.

  One hand lightly resting on a folder tucked against her side. The other relaxed. A woman comfortable in professional spaces. Elegant without trying.

  Leanne stared.

  “That looks… scary,” she murmured.

  “Scary?”

  “Like I’m about to scold someone in office.”

  “Leadership aura,” I corrected.

  Penny giggled. “She does look like boss.”

  Leanne tried not to smile but failed.

  As they watched, I added final shading. Depth under the chin. Light reflected in the pupils. Texture in the hair.

  The room around us felt distant.

  Then came the final element.

  The night before, I had drawn myself separately on a cutout sheet.

  My future self.

  Not exaggerated. Not heroic.

  Just older.

  Sharper jawline. Eyes steadier. Expression calm but observant. Slight smile, not boastful, just composed. Hair neatly styled. Shoulders squared. One hand in pocket. The other relaxed at the side.

  A presence that suggested someone who had survived something and learned from it.

  I carefully cut the outline so it could be placed beside either of their portraits.

  When I placed my adult figure next to Penny’s drawing first, she gasped.

  “Eh… that’s you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You look… different.”

  “Upgraded,” Leanne said.

  I shifted the cutout to Leanne’s portrait.

  Now it looked like two professionals standing side by side in some imagined future hallway.

  “You even match the height properly,” Leanne observed quietly.

  “I calculated proportions,” I said.

  They were silent for a moment.

  Then Penny asked softly, “Can we… keep this?”

  “You have options,” I replied. “You may display only your portrait. Or include me beside you. As you see fit.”

  Leanne looked at me strangely.

  “You planned this.”

  “Extensively.”

  At the bottom corner of each portrait, written neatly, was our landline number.

  Large enough to notice. Subtle enough to feel artistic.

  Penny noticed immediately.

  “You put your number.”

  “For archival communication.”

  Leanne laughed. “Just say you want us to call.”

  “That is also acceptable.”

  Before the bell rang, I made sure to collect theirs as well.

  “Write clearly,” I instructed. “Future contact depends on legibility.”

  Penny wrote carefully.

  Leanne wrote faster, then added, “If you call at midnight I won’t answer.”

  “Noted.”

  As I packed my bag, I felt something else in the room.

  The two taller ultra pretty girls from the back row were watching.

  Throughout the year I had paid them little attention. In my previous life I had been intimidated by their height and presence. I assumed I stood no chance.

  This time, I simply did not chase.

  They were far physically and metaphorically. And I had learned something in adulthood.

  You do not chase cats.

  You create warmth and let them approach.

  As I walked past their desks, one of them spoke first.

  “You didn’t draw us.”

  Her tone was half accusation, half curiosity.

  I stopped.

  “You think I did not prepare?”

  I handed each of them a folded sheet.

  They opened them simultaneously.

  Silence.

  Their adult versions were bold. Tall silhouettes refined into elegance. Long hair flowing dramatically. Confident posture. Eyes bright with ambition. Slight tilt of the chin that suggested self awareness.

  In the corner.

  Our landline number.

  One of them looked up slowly.

  “You… drew this before today?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve been looking at us?”

  “Observing,” I corrected.

  The other girl tried to hide a smile. “You think we will look like this?”

  “I believe you will exceed it.”

  They stared at the drawings longer than they intended to.

  “Thank you,” one said softly.

  No jealousy now.

  Only curiosity.

  The final bell rang.

  Chairs scraped. Bags zipped. Voices overlapped.

  Jason walked over.

  “Next year smart class,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  Anson waved his Game Boy. “I almost finish Elite Four!”

  “Do not rush,” I said.

  Penny held her portrait carefully against her chest.

  Leanne looked at hers again, then at me.

  “You better answer if we call,” she said.

  “I will.”

  As I stepped out of 5T for the last time, I turned once.

  The classroom looked smaller than before.

  Or perhaps I had grown.

  Primary Year 5 closed not with rivalry.

  But with drawings.

  With numbers exchanged.

  With possibilities.

  And with the quiet understanding that sometimes, the second time around, you do not chase moments.

  You shape them.

  Then let them decide whether to return to you.