YUCHI - A memory that never left
1227 Words
When I think about my past, there’s always one person who stands out — who shines brighter than everyone else. Her memories are so vivid that sometimes it feels like she’s still here, living somewhere inside my heart. Just like everyone, I once had a best friend — and her name was **Yuchi**.
I met Yuchi ten years ago, when we were both in 7th standard. She had come for admission to our school. I still remember seeing her for the first time in the school office. Our mothers made us sit together on a big chair and told us not to wander off. After a while, I introduced myself. She looked down shyly and said in a soft voice, “My name is Yuchi. I’m 10 years old.”
Her mother smiled and asked my name. “I’m Navya,” I replied, “and Yuchi and I are in the same class.” They said they would meet us tomorrow and left.
After school, I went home. We used to live inside the school campus then. That evening, I saw some furniture being brought into the house next to ours. Curious, I asked my mother if I could go see who the new neighbours were, but she said no — I might hurt myself. So I stayed by the window, just watching.
After nearly two hours of waiting, I finally saw her — the same girl from school.
**Yuchi.**
At first, I hesitated to talk to her. I thought she wouldn’t like me — after all, people at school used to call me names like *“Piggy”* and *“Japanese.”* But something inside me whispered that maybe this was my chance to finally have a friend. So, I gathered all my courage and went to her.
She had this quiet confidence — a kind of attitude I secretly admired. My eyes dropped nervously as I said, “Hi, sis. Nice to meet you. You’re my neighbour now, so... can we be friends?”
After a small pause, she smiled faintly and said, “Okay. I’m new here — staying near you will be nice. Meet me here tomorrow at noon. We’ll play.”
That was the beginning of everything.
For a few weeks, life felt magical. We played, laughed, and shared secrets like two souls who had known each other forever. But then one day, Yuchi stopped coming to school. I felt uneasy, so after class I went to her house. Her mother told me she was out for an outing, but I heard a faint cry from inside. I quietly followed the sound and found Yuchi lying in bed, wrapped tightly in a blanket, her eyes red and swollen.
“Hey, Yuchi,” I whispered, “it’s me, Navya.”
She looked up weakly and said, “I can’t come today... I’m not well.”
“Can I just sit here with you?” I asked.
“Okay,” she said softly.
After a moment of silence, I asked, “Do you think of me as your friend?”
She looked surprised. “Of course! Why are you asking?”
“Because,” I said quietly, “I feel like you’re hiding something.”
At first she denied it. But when I gently took her hand, she pulled up her sleeve — and I froze. There was a wound on her arm. My heart sank.
She told me everything — how her parents had warned her that *friends only take advantage of your weakness*, how they saw her playing with me and got furious, how they took her to a hotel one night, scolded her for being “disobedient,” and beat her for not listening.
I didn’t know what to do. I went to her parents and asked them, but they gave different answers. That night, I begged them to let me stay with her because she was ill. They reluctantly agreed.
After dinner, Yuchi fell asleep, and I quietly went to talk to her parents again. That’s when they said something I’ll never forget:
“You should not stay with her. You’ll spoil her future. If you really care for her, leave her. We’re shifting soon — do us a favour, and make her understand that she should obey us.”
Their words hit me like a storm. I nodded, tears burning my eyes, and whispered, “Okay, aunty. I understand.”
The next morning, I told Yuchi we’d go out together — to my favourite place, which I called *Dog Mountain* because it looked like a dog’s head. I had made up my mind to give her a goodbye she’d remember.
We sat there in silence, the wind brushing our faces. I gathered courage and said, “Yuchi, this is our last day together. You’ll be busy from tomorrow. We might not meet again.”
She laughed. “Good joke, Navya. I know you can’t survive without me.”
I smiled weakly. “I’m serious.”
She didn’t believe me, but I asked her to obey her parents. We argued; she cried and ran home. The next day, her family decided to leave for good.
When the shifting day came, my family helped them pack. Yuchi was quiet all day. Before leaving, she gave me two things — a promise and a bracelet.
A promise that we’d never forget each other, and a blue-pink bracelet that I still keep safely to this day.
As their car drove away, I watched until it disappeared from sight.
---
**Years passed.**
Life moved on — school, college, growing up. Yet somewhere in the middle of all the noise, her memory stayed like a soft whisper.
One spring morning, I was sitting on my balcony painting. The weather was gentle, the sunlight warm. Without realizing, I painted a girl — long hair, a grey blazer, a red tie. It was her.
Later that day, I dreamt of her — though her face was blurred, her voice was clear:
“Don’t worry. I remember you. I’ll come back soon.”
When I woke up, tears filled my eyes.
Time went on. I had new friends — Lisa and Joseph — who brought light into my quiet life. They knew little about Yuchi, only that she was once my closest friend. One night, while we were cooking for a movie night, Lisa looked at me and asked gently, “Nav, do you still try to find her?”
I froze for a moment. “No,” I whispered.
She smiled softly and changed the topic, but deep down, we both knew the truth.
Later, our college announced a scholarship program for students who wanted to study in other states. I worked day and night, and when I finally qualified, I chose a city far away — maybe because, somewhere in my heart, I hoped she might be there.
When I reached that city, everything felt strange yet familiar. I moved into my new home, explored the streets, and prepared to start classes. But even now, sometimes when the wind blows softly, or when I look at the bracelet around my wrist —
I still hear her laughter echoing faintly, like a memory that refuses to fade.
Because some friendships don’t end.
They just live quietly — in the corners of our hearts.
- Writer
