The Phone Call

By – Olivia Saha

It all started in the class of 5B,
where we met each other for the first time, and you said let’s sit together.
We chose the 3rd bench, not to close to the teacher’s eyes.
But, soon, the seating arrangement was changed, and we were sitting apart on to two sides.
Children being children, the whole class shifted back to their old seats as soon as the 1st period got over.
Now for the next 7 periods, we would be sitting together.
The Maggie in your tiffin was my favourite, and the sandwich in mine was yours.
And we used to wait for each other outside the washroom doors.
We were given the tag of “Talkative” because of our endless talks,
The talks that would continue even after we reached home after school.
Those days our after school talks used to happen over landlines,
And we never missed calling each other before the next day at school begins.
Who knew the bond will become so strong?
We were BEST FRIENDS by then!
We grew, we laughed, we cried together.
We were sure this bond was meant to be forever!
With time we parted our ways for our careers,
I left Kolkata, and got so busy that those calls nearly faded away,
which was surely wrong.
But, even if we called once in a while,
The string of our friendship was still STRONG!
After so many years, I was coming to Kolkata for a very long time.
The first priority was to meet you, hug you and talk endlessly this time!
But life has its own ways!
One morning I got a PHONE CALL, it was from one of my childhood friends.
The first thing I thought was, may you two were together.
I picked up the phone happily, but the news I got made me shattered.
I couldn’t have thought of it in my worst nightmares ever!
“You were NO MORE”
My heart ached like someone pierced it and torn it into a thousand pieces.
What could have gone wrong?
Why God took you away?
This “Why” will remain with me my entire life along with our memories that will be cherished for a lifetime.
The thing that makes my heart heavy is that I couldn’t see you for one last time!

  • In memory of my childhood best friend.

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Writing is not a skill acquired through practice. Not for us, at least. Writing is a phenomenon that occurred to us when we wanted to shout our thoughts out. It happened when our brains formed a labyrinth of thoughts with no way out. The only way was to break the walls, the walls we constructed in our minds—the walls which stopped us from letting ourselves out. We broke the barriers using the mightiest weapon, the pen. Writing was our way out of that maze. Words and sentences flowed like a stream of some river, which consisted of A2Z instead of H2O. Soon the river filled the brain and the labyrinth was not visible anymore.

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