Death of a friend.


It been three years to that day. We don’t talk about it. None of us. They show it in movies and books of the trauma when you have someone you know die.

I have never written about it. I’ve meant to but i never did.

Three years ago, in grade 9, we had our chemistry exam and after it, we all went to the cafeteria, we all stood there, ordered what we wanted to eat and went on our ways. They went out. Left school. About 45 minutes later, 3 from 4 of them were dead. One of them was in a coma.

Areeb, Talha and Sheraz were dead. Zohaib was alive but barely.

How is it you see someone and then 45 minutes later they are dead. I mean they are dead. Really, dead? I knew Zohaib and Areeb for 9 years, I have memories with them and they still haunts me. Zohaib died too three days later.

I never wrote about it because people might say I wasn’t friends with them anymore. You see, in my part of the school, they separate boys and girls. Once you separate them in grade 7, does not mean you stop them from having those 7 years of memories. I talked to them too.

Last few conversations I had with Zohaib were of us fighting but no one knows about them because they were over Facebook.
I still remember the time, when we about to separate and Areeb was sitting in the row ahead of me and he was constantly fighting with the girl next to me. I was paired up with Areeb on that.
Or when I caught Zohaib with phone and I threatened him that I’ll tell the teacher and he said with the sparkle in his eyes, the naughty face, go ahead if you dare.
And there are millions of other memories. Siting together in class, passing each other by, small talks, making fun of some and those millions seconds we spent together.

I remember them. I remember them all. Just because I wasn’t talking to them in their last days does not mean I did not know them at all. I knew. I grew up with them. I grew up with Zohaib telling tales of the fun he had when his family was together.

I can not forget that. Because I am a girl and they were boys does not mean I don’t miss them. I miss them. All of them. Even Sheraz, who I hated but I even had memories with him.

You think you ever get over something like that. You don’t. You never do. Three years later. Five years later. You still miss them. You still remember them. The memories are there.

But the worst part is, you don’t know why it hurts. There are other people, you know for a long time and then you stop talking. You all move forward in your lives.

But the feeling of the dead. It leaves a whole inside of you. You get trauma one day. Years later maybe, but you do. You sit at 3 am in the morning, typing at your laptop, with here and there a few tears flying through.

It’s the worst kind of pain. I can not explain it. It’s something so bad, so hard and you know it, in your objective and subjective, brain and mind but it doesn’t hurt. There is no weighing over the heart. You feel no pain. You are closed to it. To the pain. Your body is closed to it yet somehow, somewhere you don’t know it still hurts. You feel pain without actually feeling anything.
It’s a crazy kind of thing but I do see Zohaib’s face sparkled with smile, while teethes flashing and so wide that they are reaching his eyes.
How do you not feel something like that, yet you feel it.

I remember them. We remember them. None of us talk about them, still we remember them.

-Naba Mehdi.

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