We were just 12 when we began discussing our crushes, and by the time we were 14, we were sharing our first experiences of heartbreak. Your hand would gently rest on my chest as we talked, and the sincerity in your voice had a way of piercing straight through me. I remember the pain that seemed to resonate in your words, making me want to split open the very earth to find a remedy. Those were the days when your tears would cling to my shirt buttons, almost as if they carried a trace of sorrow, a hint of brokenness.
We go back even further, to the age of 6, when we used to race around the society building, clad in torn capris and shirts riddled with holes. Those were the days of peculiar games, our carefree laughter echoing off the garage walls as we engaged in yet another round of hide and seek at 8 p.m.
“You’re terrible at hiding; I’ll always find you,” you used to proclaim confidently. I can still recall the taste of freshly squeezed lemonade, crafted by our own dusty hands after an exhausting game of cricket. You always had a knack for games, never letting victory elude you. Perhaps that’s how you mastered the art of evading situations too.
I miss you tremendously, far more than words can convey. I long for the sound of your laughter, its gentle cadence following me into libraries and the corners of cafes that have witnessed countless friendships dissipate. It’s been a long while without you, and not a single day passes when I don’t contemplate sending you a simple “Hey.”
I’m not entirely sure where things took a turn. I can’t fathom why we no longer share quips about pretentious couples seated in the front rows of movie theaters during screenings. But there are moments when I casually jot down your name or whisper your phone number into the empty air, and the pain is palpable. It pains me to realize that I can’t simply call you when I’m feeling out of place. It stings to know that you’ve ceased to inquire if I’ve had dinner. It hurts profoundly to acknowledge that, when I last went into hiding, you didn’t come searching for me. Nevertheless, I remain here, waiting, in case you ever wish to resume our game of hide and seek.
Yours,
A friend not forgotten
