Reminiscing
Scrolling through old archives, I stumbled upon memories from when I was thirteen. Back in 2015, the biggest stress was making it to school on time so my best friend and I could sit by the window. Life then felt small and certain: bright pointers, doing her homework for fun, ink fights, and using remover to erase the smallest stain on our uniform before home time.
I remember how much I claimed to hate school in seventh grade but those small, fleeting moments gave meaning to it all. On rainy days I’d sit by the window and watch the sky go dark, trying to ignore the way maths made my head spin. I brought fries for lunch every day and got teased for it. I remember how I always chose the better ice cream for myself and handed my best friend the classic orange one.
There were no insecurities, no pressure to grow up, no distance between hearts. My grandfather was still around. I’d visit him every Friday and often stay for weeks because I never wanted to leave. When I would finally return to school, my classmates would joke and call me Eid ka chaand. I didn’t even like most of them, but somehow those days still hold a warmth.
Back then life wasn’t lonely. I wasn’t weighed down by growing up, nor exhausted from counting losses, nor haunted by the thought that friendships might be temporary. I never imagined I’d one day feel alone so often, never thought I’d write about fifteen hundred letters to my grandfather because I couldn’t see him anymore.
Now I sit awake at 4 a.m, wondering how life spun a full circle and left me counting losses. And yet those memories keep returning like small lanterns in the dark, reminding me that once there was a time when the world fit inside a classroom window.
