Edited By: Navya Gupta
The swing creaks beneath us as we gently sway back and forth. It’s the kind of rhythm that feels both familiar and strange. I grip the chain loosely, looking ahead at the overcast sky as the playground hums with life. Children chase each other, parents chat at the benches, and leaves crunch underfoot. It’s an ordinary park in the middle of a small neighbourhood, tucked between streets that feel a little too far from where we are now—both in distance and time.
We’ve been here countless times before. This was our spot, back when everything was simpler. But now, everything feels a bit… off.
“So, how’s college treating you?” I ask, pushing myself into a light swing.
My friend shrugs, their feet scuffing the dirt beneath. “It’s fine. Classes are okay. Met a few people.”
There’s a pause, not heavy enough to be awkward, but enough for me to notice it. I find myself searching for the right thing to say, attempting to revive the old rhythm we used to have, the kind of conversations that flowed like water without us even trying. Now it feels like I’m fishing in the dark for a connection that used to come so easily.
I force a smile. “Remember when we were here, and it started pouring out of nowhere? We got completely drenched.” I glance at them, hoping the memory will pull us closer, but they only give me a small chuckle.
“Yeah,” they say, almost whispering, a little far away in their own mind.
We’ve had some great times together—more than great, really. I can’t help but think about how we used to be inseparable. During school, we were like two halves of the same person. I knew everything about them: their favourite snacks, the songs they listened to on repeat, even the strange quirks they had; Like how they refused to step on cracks in the pavement or how they’d always eat fries before the burger.
We talked about everything—our dreams, our fears, the petty drama of who liked whom in class. Some nights we stayed up until 3 a.m. texting each other, sharing every insignificant thought that popped into our heads. During exams, we’d study, procrastinate, panic together, and still end up pulling through. When things got tough—from a bad grade to a broken heart—we were each other’s safety net.
But those days feel like a lifetime ago.
“Do you feel like things have… changed?” I ask hesitantly, kicking off the ground so my swing lifts higher.
“Changed how?” they reply.
I want to say: Like we’ve changed. Like I don’t know you the way I used to. But that feels too harsh, too close to the bone.
“I don’t know… Just different,” I settle for instead. “College makes it harder to keep up with everyone, you know? You’re busy, I’m busy… It’s not like before.”
They nod slowly, as if they’ve been thinking the same thing but didn’t know how to bring it up either. “Yeah. Sometimes it’s weird. Like, I’ll think about messaging you, but then I don’t know what to say. Feels like I don’t know what’s going on in your life anymore.”
It stings, hearing it out loud. But they’re right. We’ve both changed. College has a way of doing that—making you question where you fit, who you still fit with, and what parts of yourself you’ve left behind.
There have been moments—quiet ones—when I’ve wondered if I’ve outgrown some of these old friendships. It’s a painful thought, one I try to push away every time it creeps in. How do you outgrow people who were once your whole world?
But I remember all the moments we shared: walking home from school together, our laughter echoing through empty streets. Movie nights at their house, where we fought over the remote and ate too much popcorn. That time we got in trouble for sneaking out to stargaze at midnight, or the afternoons spent planning our careers, as if we had it all figured out.
These memories anchor me. They remind me of the bond we built, the kind that is too valuable to let slip away just because things have changed.
“I miss us,” I say, the words slipping out quietly.
They stop swinging and glance at me with a small, almost sad smile. “Yeah. Me too.”
We sit in silence for a while, the kind that’s not uncomfortable but full of unspoken things. The sky above is turning dark, a sign that the day is winding down. But I don’t want to leave just yet. I want to stay here, in this in-between place—between the past and the present, between who we were and who we’re becoming.
“Do you think we’ll always be friends?” I ask, trying not to sound desperate.
They think for a moment before answering. “I hope so.”
It’s not exactly the reassurance I was hoping for, but it’s honest. Maybe, that’s enough for now.
We keep swinging, not saying much, just enjoying the quiet rhythm we’ve found. Maybe we’ll never go back to being those kids who knew each other inside out. Maybe we’ll drift in and out of each other’s lives, growing and changing in ways that neither of us can predict.
But for now, we’re here. On this swing set, in this park. Trying.
And that feels like a good place to start.