1989 – The Goodbye

The school bell rang, marking the end of another day. Mira and Seema, both 12, lingered in their classroom, sitting on the last bench they had shared for years. Their fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on the wooden desk, one that bore their initials ‘M & S’ carved in a moment of childhood rebellion.

“I still can’t believe you’re leaving,” Mira muttered, kicking the desk leg lightly.

Seema sighed. “Me neither, yaar. But what can I do? Papa got a job in Canada. Our family needs this money. We leave next week.”

Mira swallowed the lump in her throat. She had known this was coming, but reality hit harder than she expected.

Silence stretched between them, the usual after-school chatter of their classmates fading as the last of them left. Mira pulled out a blue ink pen and scribbled inside her notebook:

“Best Friends Forever – Mira & Seema.”

Seema grinned and did the same. “We’ll write letters, okay?” she said. “And one day, I’ll come back.”

Mira nodded, blinking fast. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

They shook hands, sealing a bond in their hearts they thought would last forever.

But forever was a long time.

⸻——————

1995 – The Lost Years

At first, they kept their promise.

Seema’s letters arrived, filled with descriptions of snow-covered streets, strange western food, and a world where no one celebrated Diwali the way they used to back home. Mira, in return, wrote about their school gossip, the pani puri stall outside their colony, and how she had won first prize in a debate competition.

But then, life happened.

Seema’s letters became less frequent. Mira’s replies sat unwritten in her mind, overshadowed by exams, college applications, and the expectations of growing up in a traditional household. Eventually, the letters stopped altogether.

Seema never visited India, and Mira had no way of contacting her.

Life moved on.

But Mira wasn’t one to wait for fate to decide her course. While most girls around her were pushed into marriage after school, she fought to pursue journalism.

She had to fight harder than her male counterparts; bosses dismissed her ideas, editors questioned if she could handle the danger of investigative reporting, and society whispered that it wasn’t a “woman’s job.”

But Mira thrived. She uncovered corruption, exposed injustice, and fought for those who had no voice.

And yet, in quiet moments, she still thought of Seema.

⸻——————

2003 – The Internet Arrives

The world was changing. Cyber cafés had started popping up in town, their glowing signboards advertising “INTERNET SURFING ₹30 PER HOUR.”

One evening, after a long day chasing a story, Mira stepped into one, curious but hesitant.

She had heard about this thing called “email” and how people could find long-lost friends online.

On a whim, she typed into the search bar:

“Seema Verma Canada.”

Nothing.

She tried again, adding variations; Seema Sharma, Seema V Toronto, Seema India—but all she got were irrelevant results.

Days turned into weeks, but Mira kept searching. Something inside her refused to let go.

And then, one evening, as she logged into one of the early social networking sites, a friend request notification popped up.

“Seema Verma – Toronto, Canada.”

Mira’s hands shook as she clicked on it. Could it really be her?

She hesitated, then typed:

“Seema?! Is this really you?”

Seconds later, a reply appeared.

“MIRA!!! YES, IT’S ME! I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS!”

And just like that, 14 years disappeared.

⸻——————

2004 – The Reunion

A year later, Seema finally made the trip back to India.

Mira stood at the airport, her heart pounding. Would Seema still be the same? Would they still have anything in common after all these years?

And then, she saw her.

A little heavier, a little older, but the same infectious laughter, the same mischievous glint in her eyes.

Seema rushed toward her, and they hugged tightly, as if no time had passed at all.

“You still wear those bangles,” Mira teased, pointing at Seema’s wrists.

“And you still talk too much,” Seema shot back, laughing.

Over the next few days, they retraced the paths of their childhood; walking through their old school corridors, visiting their favorite pani puri stall, sitting on the same last bench in an empty classroom, reminiscing about old pranks and forgotten crushes.

But beyond nostalgia, they discovered something more.

Regret.

One night, Seema whispered, “Mira… I tried. I really tried to visit. But life—marriage, kids, responsibilities—it just kept slipping away.”

Mira smiled, but her eyes glistened. “I know. I tried writing so many letters, but I never sent them. I guess we both thought we had time.”

Silence.

Then Seema squeezed her hand. “We have time now.”

And this time, they meant it.

⸻——————

2024 – The Forever Bond

Now both married with kids, their lives were on different continents, yet their friendship remained as strong as ever.

They video-called through sleepless nights, sent each other voice notes of their children’s first words, and planned family vacations where their kids played together, just as they had once done.

One evening, as Mira sat in the newsroom after filing yet another hard-hitting report, her phone buzzed.

It was a news alert.

Her latest piece, a story exposing gender inequality in rural education, had just gone viral.

And then, another notification.

A message from Seema.

Seema: “You make me so proud. We may have lost years, but you never lost yourself.”

Mira smiled, typing back:

“And I never lost you either.”

Because some friendships don’t fade.

They pause, they wait, and when the time is right, they come back stronger than ever.