[Turn a song into a story]
The fondest memory I have of her is from when we were seven. It's been thirteen years since, but in my mind, we would always be seven. That was when we saw each other most often, climbing trees and playing pretend. I can picture it clearly as if it were only yesterday. She, a few branches over me, sending dust from her shoes into my eyes and hair; me following closely behind, convinced that the branches will break. They never broke because we never sat in one place for long. After coming down from the trees, we would go to the swings. The swings gave me a funny feeling in my stomach, a kind of churning with every high and every low. But we would play on those swings for hours. My favourite game was pretending to be pirates and digging up a portion of the park to find treasure. We had truly hoped we would find treasure, but when we got tired, we decided that the sand-filled bottle caps would have to suffice. Later, we went to her house and hid under the bed because the bed was our ship, and the house was probably haunted anyway. She told me to come live with her there and I said yes but my mother came to pick me up later that evening. I would come back the next day and we would play a different game. I remember that day so vividly but I fail to conjure up her face in my mind. I wonder if I were to see her again, would I recognise her? Or would we just pass each other by as strangers on the street? Would we turn around for a second look, a hint of recognition crossing our faces? Or would we miss each other completely? I guess we'll never know.
By –
Shreya Jathavedan
B.A. (H) Psychology
Third Year
[Edited and Art Curated by Mehak Aggarwal]
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