OCTOBER 2024
Bzzzt… bzzzt…
My phone had been ringing nonstop since morning. Calls and messages kept coming in—ones I deliberately ignored. Even though I knew they were just worried about me.
"Ra, your phone's been going off all day. Just answer it already."
My sister handed it to me. I had left it on the table on purpose.
I hesitated for a moment before taking it. But to hide how different I felt today, I finally answered, pretending everything was fine.
"Assalamualaikum. Yeah, what is it, Lin?" I said, trying to sound as casual as possible.
"Are you okay, Ra? You're safe, right? If you need someone to talk to, don't forget to tell me. You've got me and Tara seriously worried!"
I let out a small laugh.
"Breathe first, Lin," I said softly.
"I'm fine. Really."
"Are you sure? Like, a hundred percent sure?"
"Yes!"
There was a brief silence on the other end.
"Besides, why wouldn't I be okay?" I added, trying to convince her—and maybe myself.
"I'm really happy here, Lin. You know how rare it is for my family to go on vacation together."
I heard her sigh in relief.
"Alright then. But stay in touch, okay? Don't you dare ignore our group chat!"
I nodded, even though she couldn't see me.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Have fun!"
"oke."
The call ended.
Once again, I found myself staring out from the eleventh-floor apartment my family had rented for this vacation. My eyes followed the waves chasing each other along the shore.
All day, one sentence had been looping in my mind—reassuring, forcing, calming myself over and over again.
You're fine.
Until a new message appeared on my screen.
One message that shattered the wall I had carefully built since morning.
"Where are you?"
MAY 2015
Today, the air felt heavier than usual.
The schoolyard—normally filled with laughter—was now crowded with tense faces pretending to stay calm.
In my hand, a white envelope felt like it held my entire future.
Up on stage, the principal had been giving a speech, occasionally slipping in his usual jokes that would normally earn laughs. But today, barely anyone laughed. Everyone was too busy with their own thoughts.
Until finally, he said,
"Now, open the envelopes in your hands."
Linda, Tara, and I exchanged glances. Without a word, we opened them together, holding our breath.
"I PASSED!" Linda shouted excitedly.
"Me too!" Tara chimed in.
"ME TOOO!" I yelled just as loudly.
We hugged each other tightly, spinning around without caring who was watching. It felt like a huge weight pressing on my chest had suddenly disappeared.
"GOODBYE, HIGH SCHOOL!" Tara screamed with pure excitement.
Our classmates rushed over, swept up in the same wave of joy. Laughter, cheers, and hugs blended into one.
Until my laughter stopped.
A light tap landed on my shoulder.
"Ra… can we talk for a second?" Keenan asked.
I froze.
That name felt both unfamiliar and painfully familiar at the same time.
Linda nudged my arm, her eyes widening as if to say, Wake up!
"Oh… yeah, Nan. What's up?" I replied, trying to sound normal.
It had been six months since we last spoke—since things between us ended… not well.
"I wanted to ask for your signature… and maybe a message too," he said quietly, handing me his yearbook.
"Wait a second," I replied.
I ran to the tree where Linda had left our bags. My hands trembled slightly as I unzipped mine and pulled out my own yearbook. Then I returned to where Keenan stood.
"Then I want the same thing," I said, handing him mine and taking his.
Our fingers brushed for a split second—just enough to make my heart race again, as if the past six months had never happened.
I wrote quickly, before my heart could change its mind.
Thank you for once being part of my high school story. And… I'm sorry for everything. I hope your life is always filled with happiness, Nan.
Simple as that.
When we exchanged our books again, there was no touch this time. No racing heartbeat. Just two people who once meant something to each other, now standing with a distance that could no longer be crossed.
"Take care, Ra," he said softly.
"You too."
And for the first time, I realized—
Not every story is meant to be fought for until the end.
Some are simply destined to end in high school—
meant to be remembered, not relived.
"Thanks, Ra. I'll go now," he said.
"Yeah."
I watched his back as he walked away, slowly disappearing into the crowd of friends still laughing and taking pictures.
Strangely, in the middle of all that celebration, there was an emptiness inside my chest that felt unbearably quiet.
I held my yearbook tightly—the one he had just returned.
I knew there was something he wrote inside.
I knew he had left something there.
But I didn't open it.
Not that day.
Not the next day either.
Because sometimes, the hardest part isn't reading a message—
It's accepting that what it says might change the way you remember everything.
And I chose to preserve that memory just as it was.
Without additions.
Without answers.