I entered the van, exhausted as usual when I saw someone new had entered our van. The first time I saw him, my heart skipped a beat. His golden-brown hair, his light green eyes, his ribbing smile. I knew I had seen him before, But when? Where? “Remember me?”, he asked. Not long before I fixated my gaze upon him than his identity popped into my mind. The last time I saw him was when I was in the fifth grade, he was in the sixth grade. He just left school. No reason, no goodbye, no ‘I will miss you’. He just left. Why did he come back? Why did he leave in the first place?
Maybe he wanted to finish his boards in the same school he finished his elementary and primary education from? “Hey!”, he snapped his fingers at me. “Quit staring at me like that, I might just fall for you”, he teased. I shook my head at his antics. Days went by. From ‘I don’t really remember you’ to ‘I know your favorite childhood memory. Our conversations were myriad in their themes. From relationships to politics to psychology to movies, no topic under the Sun would not be discussed. I was falling for him; deeply, quickly. Maybe he was falling for me too, little did I know, I would never find out. Every morning, as soon as I stepped foot in the van, he would greet me with a warm smile and a ‘Morning Hussain’.
His smile, the way he greeted me would always brighten up my morning. I was not greeted by him that morning, rather I received a cold chill from the other members of the van. “Dear students, please line up; we have some devastating news”, commenced the principal. “We have lost a bright, young soul”. No, no it cannot be. He did not show up in the van, because he fell sick. Because he went on a vacation. Please, please do not take him away. I prayed in anticipation that she would not call out his name. All my prayers fell on deaf ears. “His name was Shayan Aciman, we lost him last night’. My heart sank. It felt like a strong punch to the gut, and I doubled over. The voices around me gradually began to fade. Shayan had committed suicide. For the next one month, I cried myself to sleep every single night. I visited his mother, two months later. I entered her house and she looked miserable. Her eyes were droopy, her hair looked like it was trying to escape. She looked at me for some time and said “Zoya? Zoya Hussain? The van friend?”.
I looked at her in surprise and said “yes….” She then told me something I would remember clear as day; “Zoya, Shayan would always talk about you, his eyes glistened every time he mentioned your name. I knew he liked you. I could always tell. I was not sure of the magnitude though. He told me about the day it rained, and the van did not show up. You both ended up catching an auto. You were drained and placed your head on his shoulder, and he placed his arm around your shoulder. You took his hand in your hand and your fingers interlaced with one another. He told me he would kill to have more moments like that with you.
That is when I knew that he loved you”. If only, I told him I loved him. If only, we could have spent more time together. If only…. I will always reminisce about those moments. The exchange of knowing looks, the laughter, the last time he said, ‘Morning Hussain’. Once again, he had left me. No reason, no goodbye, no ‘I will miss you’. He was a breath of fresh air on a Summer morning. ‘Goodbye Aciman, you will always be loved and forever be missed’, I said as I parted ways with his tombstone.
By: Sanjana Pillai
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