Paper Planes

The classroom smelled of pencil shavings and damp jackets. For five minutes, we folded scraps of notebook paper into planes, launching them across the room. Some glided, some wobbled, others crashed into walls. I traced their arcs with my eyes, noting collisions, ricochets, and the occasional flight that defied expectation.

Laughter erupted, papers tumbled, and yet patterns emerged: the planes avoided certain corners, landing repeatedly in familiar arcs. I folded another, adjusting the crease slightly, predicting its path, marveling that small variations led to wildly different outcomes. In that brief chaos, I glimpsed a lesson bigger than geometry: that
unpredictability is only meaningful if we observe, if we participate, if we notice the subtle orders forming inside the mess.