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Whited Sepulchre ( Part2 ) : A Childhood Friend
(Note : Read part 1 before proceeding)
Dear Yashashvi,
I felt like writing to you because it feels like we have not talked for centuries,right? Now I know you will contradict me, just like a true Yashashvi. It seems like yesterday that the entire class had been told to stand outside as a punishment, and had turned the school corridor into a gallery of wild,excited spectators watching the interschoool cricket match on the field below.
Let me remind you of our journey through school life.
I hope to give you, instead of certain reservations, a more or less candid account of the ups and downs that we have been through,down the memory lane.
Our days of friendship had started from early primary school, when we fought onmver lost colour pencils,damaged pencil-boxes,broken rulers; and bonded over tiffin breaks,incessant giggling at childish jokes,as well as Hans Anderson's priceless fairytales.
With time,we both grew up. Our worlds quickly changed from winged fairies, little cottages, mischievous pixies,elves,gnomes and ugly witches to a bigger and more fantastic world of latenight arcade games,petty drama and ,of course, evanescent limerence. You grew up into a tall slender teenaged girl with dimpled cheeks, while I, your childhood 'bestie' (hopefully that's the correct spelling) transformed into a plump, cheerful and rather studious classmate of yours. We remained in the same batch throughout middle school and for the first couple of years at high school.
But as we grew older with time , and more and more new elements entered our once-upon-a-time simple and carefree life, I felt people around me change drastically. Especially you, Yashashvi.
It was an uneasy feeling when you started to drift away from me. You preferred spending quality hours with other girls who were funnier and more talkative than me. You spent less time on the phone and in general, made me feel like there was something inherently wrong with my character, which justified your distinctly hostile attitude.
But the most hurtful memory of your cold attitude was the John Cotyle incident.
(To be continued)
© xylapersephone
Dear Yashashvi,
I felt like writing to you because it feels like we have not talked for centuries,right? Now I know you will contradict me, just like a true Yashashvi. It seems like yesterday that the entire class had been told to stand outside as a punishment, and had turned the school corridor into a gallery of wild,excited spectators watching the interschoool cricket match on the field below.
Let me remind you of our journey through school life.
I hope to give you, instead of certain reservations, a more or less candid account of the ups and downs that we have been through,down the memory lane.
Our days of friendship had started from early primary school, when we fought onmver lost colour pencils,damaged pencil-boxes,broken rulers; and bonded over tiffin breaks,incessant giggling at childish jokes,as well as Hans Anderson's priceless fairytales.
With time,we both grew up. Our worlds quickly changed from winged fairies, little cottages, mischievous pixies,elves,gnomes and ugly witches to a bigger and more fantastic world of latenight arcade games,petty drama and ,of course, evanescent limerence. You grew up into a tall slender teenaged girl with dimpled cheeks, while I, your childhood 'bestie' (hopefully that's the correct spelling) transformed into a plump, cheerful and rather studious classmate of yours. We remained in the same batch throughout middle school and for the first couple of years at high school.
But as we grew older with time , and more and more new elements entered our once-upon-a-time simple and carefree life, I felt people around me change drastically. Especially you, Yashashvi.
It was an uneasy feeling when you started to drift away from me. You preferred spending quality hours with other girls who were funnier and more talkative than me. You spent less time on the phone and in general, made me feel like there was something inherently wrong with my character, which justified your distinctly hostile attitude.
But the most hurtful memory of your cold attitude was the John Cotyle incident.
(To be continued)
© xylapersephone
