“Kaleem Ullah is leaving today and I thought maybe you want to bid him farewell so I invited him for lunch,” my dad’s voice filled the room as he stepped inside. I was trying to avoid thinking about his departure because every time I did, it made me sad.

I still remember the day when I first met him. It was his first day at school and our class teacher made him sit with me. We barely spoke anything during that lesson. I had forgotten my lunch box at home and I was too proud to ask anyone to share with me. And when my stomach growled, indicating how hungry I was, Kaleem heard as he was sitting next to me, and offered me half of his sandwich. It was that sandwich which proved to be the foundation of our everlasting friendship.

“Is he leaving?” I said while a bunch of tears traced a path down my cheeks. I never really knew I was capable of feeling such emotions for I have been told crying is for the weak.

“Was I weak without him?” I wondered. How couldn’t I be? He was my best friend, my companion in grief and my confidant. Who can fill the void in my life after he left? Who could be my Kaleem?

My dad sat down next to me. He wrapped his arms around me and at that moment, I realised that Kaleem Ullah was just like a son to him, too. When everyone in the town was worried about their sons befriending Afghanis, dad never seemed to bother. He never saw Kaleem Ullah as an Afghani but a Muslim. He would let me invite him for games over the weekends and would often take us around the park. Dad was fond of him and we would often spend hours talking about him.

“Come downstairs you both. Kaleem Ullah is here and the lunch is ready,” Amma shouted.

We got up and went downstairs. We greeted Kaleem Ullah and I gave him a fake, weak smile. His swollen eyes were a testament that he wasn’t happy either about leaving. We sat down and ate quietly. None of us said anything. Amma had made her special briyani and I know she made it for Kaleem. It was her way of showing love.

“So, when’s the bus?” I asked to break this silence between us as it was bothering me.

“I’ll be leaving at 5:00pm,” he replied while not looking into my eyes. Both of us were avoiding eye contact. The clock soon struck 3:30 and it meant that he would be leaving soon.

I ran to my room to get my favourite toy. I wanted to give it to him as a souvenir of our friendship. I wanted him to remember me. He followed me into my room and saw me holding my favourite toy.

“You don’t have to give me anything. You’ve already given me enough. Your homeland and your love,” Kaleem said.

“I don’t want you to leave,” I confessed.

“And I wish I could stay,” came the heartfelt response from Kaleem. The air was filled with a mixture of longing and understanding. But we have to accept the fact. So with a reassuring smile, I reached out to him and placed a hand on Kaleem’s shoulder then hugged him.

“No matter how many miles separate us, the memories we’ve created will always connect our hearts. Besides we can always contact each other through mobile phone,” I said.

The farewell was unspoken, for deep connections don’t need words. With a final, lingering gaze, we exchanged a nod, reminding each other of the great times we spent together and understanding that other adventures of life awaited us.

Published in Dawn, Young World, December 16th, 2023