The Bridge Between Us
Ayaan had not given Arham a thought in years. Not actually. There would be, naturally, the intermittent flashbacks of their boyhood friendship—a burst of laughter in the school halls, surreptitious high-fives during lunch, late-night cram sessions prior to exams. But those were tentative echoes of another moment, a distant past that had faded away like an overexposed photograph abandoned in the sunlight too long.

It wasn't that they had fought. There hadn't been bitter words, there hadn't been a betrayal. Only the gradual drift of life. Ayaan had gone off to college in another city, Arham had remained behind, and somewhere between growing up and letting go, they had drifted apart.

But now, at the old gates of their old school, memories rushed in like an old forgotten tune. The scent of rain-soaked earth and cut grass filled the air, just as before. Students' laughter in the quadrangle sounded unfamiliar and yet not unfamiliar.

Ayaan had returned to town on business—a flying visit, nothing more. But something had brought him here, to this place. Perhaps nostalgia. Perhaps curiosity. Perhaps the sting of something left unspoken.

Then, as if fate had been holding its breath for this moment, a voice called out behind him.

"Ayaan?"

He turned.

Arham stood before her, slightly taller, slightly older, but unmistakably the same. His hair was shorter, his shoulders more broad, but his eyes still carried the same mischievousness, the same warmth. They both stood there for a moment, as though adding up the years that time had put between them.

And then Arham smiled. "You still have that habit of staring too much."

Ayaan smiled, the tone a surprise even to himself. "And you still have the ability to come out of thin air."

There was a hush at first—the small talk, the diplomatic words. They walked to the tea stall opposite the street, the same stall where they used to slip away from school. The owner, slower and grayer now, still knew them, greeting them with a nodding smile.

Surrounding steaming cups of chai, the discussion slowly picked up again.

"So you went off and became a big shot?" Arham teased, lazily stirring his tea.

"And you remained and became a legend?" Ayaan retorted, inclining her head toward a group of younger students who had greeted Arham in recognition.

Arham shrugged. "Teaching is my passion. Someone's gotta keep these kids from turning into troublemakers like we did."

Ayaan smiled. He hadn't anticipated this—this ease, this familiarity. He had been afraid that too much time had elapsed, that they were strangers now. But here, in the warmth of common memories, he understood something significant.

Friendship, true friendship, does not wither away. It does not perish from distance or time. It waits, silently, patiently, like an old bridge waiting to be crossed once more.

And there they sat, giggling over old-fashioned jokes and patching up the gaps of years gone by, Ayaan was certain—some bridges are for rebuilding.

And this one? This one was only just beginning.
It was raining when Ayaan and Arham were saying goodbyes near the tea stall. Fat raindrops fell down to the earth, seeping into the dirt, releasing that wonderful smell of water and ground mingling together. Neither wanted to leave although they had soaked clothes on their backs. Perhaps because both were aware—this would perhaps not be repeated again.

"Go, let's go," prodded Arham, jostling Ayaan's shoulder.

They walked on the market road, the very road they used to walk a million times in childhood—where they used to purchase cheap comics, where they had split the money to share one falooda and disputed who had devoured more. The roads weren't the same. The shop that used to be a bookshop was turned into a cafe, the clock repair shop remained shut, and the ground which used to become the racing tract was occupied by an apartment block.

"Feels different, doesn't it?" Ayaan whispered.

Arham nodded. "Yeah… but some things never change."

They reached the school park, where a lone bench sat under the neem tree. Their old haunt. The rain had dwindled to a drizzle now, the world falling silent into a gentle murmur.

Ayaan hesitated before sitting down. "You ever think about—" He broke off, unsure how to go on.

Arham raised an eyebrow. "Think about what?"

Ayaan sighed. "How we drifted apart."

Arham rested back, arms crossed over the bench. "Yeah, sometimes." He looked at Ayaan. "It wasn't anyone's fault, you know. Life happened. You left, I stayed. It's just how things go."

"I know," Ayaan said. "But I wish we hadn't lost all those years."

Arham didn't say anything for a moment. Then, with a grin, he elbowed Ayaan's arm. "We're here now, aren't we?"

Ayaan chuckled. "Yeah. We are."

They sat quietly for a bit, observing the rain falling off the leaves. Arham broke the silence again, his voice softer.

"You know. I was proud of you when you left. You always had big dreams, bigger than this town. I never said this to your face, but I knew you were going to go far."

Ayaan stared at him in wonder. "I never thought you'd say that."

Arham smiled. "Well, I'm a teacher now. I say intelligent things every now and then."

They both laughed, and with that, the last remnants of awkwardness were erased.

"Let's not get lost again," Ayaan said.

Arham held out his hand. "Deal."

Ayaan shook it firmly.

Some friendships disappear, but the true ones—no matter how many years go by—somehow or another always end up back again.

And when the rain let up and the clouds cleared, Ayaan knew this was the start of something.