The Park Bench That Was Big Enough for Three

In the middle of the park near Malak's house, there was a green bench under a tall plane tree. It was not a very fancy bench. Its paint was a little chipped, and one of its wooden slats creaked when you sat on it. But Malak loved it more than any bench in the world.

Every afternoon, after school, Malak and her best friend Selim ran to the green bench. They always sat in the same places. Malak sat on the left, next to the armrest shaped like a curly leaf. Selim sat on the right, next to the creaky slat. In the middle, they put their snack box, and they shared whatever was inside.

On Mondays, it was orange slices. On Tuesdays, it was crackers. On Wednesdays, it was a handful of dates from Selim's grandmother. They swung their legs and watched the pigeons peck at the path. They talked about everything: their teachers, their favorite colors, the clouds that looked like animals.

"This is our bench," Selim always said.

"Just ours," Malak always agreed.

One windy Monday in autumn, Malak and Selim ran across the grass as usual. Orange and yellow leaves were tumbling down from the plane tree. But when they reached the green bench, they stopped.

Someone was already sitting there.

It was a girl about their age. She had short curly hair, a blue scarf, and a backpack that looked very new. She was sitting right in the middle of the bench, all by herself, holding a small paper bag.

Malak and Selim looked at each other.

"That's our bench," whispered Selim.

"I know," whispered Malak.

They stood there for a moment, not sure what to do. The girl looked up at them. Then she looked down at her paper bag. Her cheeks turned a little pink.

"Maybe we should find another bench," said Selim, a bit grumpily.

Malak looked around the park. There was a yellow bench by the pond, but it was wet with puddles. There was a stone bench by the gate, but it was cold and hard. And neither of them had a curly leaf armrest or a creaky slat.

Malak looked at the girl again. She noticed that the girl's backpack had a name tag on it. It said Ines. She noticed that Ines was not eating anything from her paper bag. She was just holding it and looking at the pigeons, all alone.

Malak remembered her very first day at this school, a long time ago, when she had not known anyone. She remembered how her tummy had felt like it was full of butterflies. And she remembered how Selim had walked up to her at lunchtime and said, "Do you want to share my crackers?"

Malak tugged Selim's sleeve. "Selim," she said quietly, "do you remember my first day?"

Selim thought about it. Then he looked at Ines again. His grumpy face softened.

"She looks a bit lonely," he said.

"She looks like I did," said Malak.

Malak took a deep breath and walked up to the bench. "Hello," she said. "Are you Ines?"

The girl nodded. "I'm new," she said in a small voice. "We just moved here last week."

"I'm Malak, and this is Selim," said Malak. "We sit on this bench every day after school. Can we sit with you?"

Ines's face lit up. "Oh yes, please," she said, and she scooted over to one side.

Malak sat down in her usual place by the curly leaf armrest. Selim sat down in his usual place by the creaky slat. Creeeak, went the slat, and Ines giggled.

There was just enough room for the three of them. Their shoulders bumped a little, and the snack box had to sit on Malak's lap instead of in the middle. But nobody minded.

Malak opened the box. "It's orange slices today," she said. "Would you like one?"

Ines took one and smiled. Then she opened her paper bag. "I have something too," she said. Inside were three round sesame biscuits, golden and crunchy. "My mother made them. There is one for each of us."

Selim's eyes went wide. "There are exactly three!"

"I think," said Ines shyly, "my mother hoped I would make friends today."

They munched their biscuits and their orange slices. The wind blew the leaves around their feet in little swirls. A fat grey pigeon waddled up to the bench and looked at them hopefully.

Then Ines did something surprising. She cupped her hands together and blew into them. A soft sound came out, just like a pigeon cooing. Coo-roo, coo-roo.

The pigeon tilted its head. Then it cooed back!

Malak and Selim gasped. "How did you do that?"

"My grandfather taught me," said Ines. "I can do an owl too, and a dove." She showed them. Hoo-hoo. Coo-coo.

"Can you teach us?" asked Selim.

So Ines showed them how to cup their hands just right and where to blow. Malak's first try sounded like a whistle. Selim's first try sounded like a sneeze. They laughed so hard that the creaky slat creaked and creaked. But on the tenth try, Selim made a real pigeon sound, and the fat pigeon cooed back at him.

"I did it!" he shouted, and the pigeons fluttered up into the air like a cloud of grey feathers.

When the sun began to set, it was time to go home. They stood up and brushed the crumbs off their clothes.

"Will you come again tomorrow?" Malak asked Ines.

"Can I?" asked Ines.

"Of course," said Selim. "It's Tuesday tomorrow. Crackers day."

Ines grinned. "I'll bring more biscuits."

As they walked home, Selim looked back at the green bench under the plane tree.

"You know," he said, "I always thought that bench was only big enough for two."

Malak smiled. "It was always big enough for three," she said. "We just had to scoot over."

And from that day on, the green bench had three friends, three snacks, and a whole flock of pigeons who came every afternoon to listen.