Haru

I had always been a little lost in my own world, building castles of imagination in the corner of the classroom or chasing fantastical adventures during breaks. Grade three wasn’t just about multiplication tables and reading aloud. It was about the tiny dramas, the whispered jokes, and the friends who made even the most boring lessons bearable.

"Hey, ruru! Bet you can’t finish this hopscotch in under ten jumps" my best friend Lily called to me, grinning from ear to ear.

I rolled my eyes, already bouncing with excitement "Watch me! "

I jump over each square carefully, treating the ground as lava in my imagination yet again.

The sun was bright and warm that morning, making the chalked squares on the playground glow. My friends and I laughed, stumbled, and sometimes fell flat on the dusty ground. I didn’t care — I was in my world, chasing the thrill of winning, teasing, and running around.

I didn’t notice it then. Not really. A shadow, perhaps, at the edge of my vision- a quiet figure sitting under the tree playing with a stick on ground, eyes occasionally flicking up to the playground. I thought it was just another kid, always alone, always quiet. That’s all he was… until he wasn’t.

Even during games, little moments teased fate. A ball rolled near the tree, and his hand was there before I even realized. I picked it up, shrugged and tossed it back to my friends without thinking.

A small nod, almost unnoticeable, acknowledged it and then he went back to his doodling. That tiny gesture felt… strange like it mattered but I couldn’t tell why.

[After a few minutes]

Back in the classroom, during reading time, my friends whispered secrets about who liked who, who was being silly and who had done something hilarious at lunch. I laughed along with scribbled little doodles in my notebook, and tried to remember every detail.

Even then, I was aware of patterns- who remembered what, who was consistent, who disappeared in the middle of a joke. But him? He didn’t fit into any pattern I knew. Invisible. Always watching.

By the time the bell rang and we spilled into the playground again, my imagination had shifted. What if the ball rolling incident wasn’t just luck?

What if someone out there noticed me? Shaking my head, I giggled at the thought- ridiculous, obviously.

Little did I know, the quiet boy under the tree had already cataloged my laugh, the way I kicked the ball, how I got flustered when my friends teased me.

Every small action mattered to him, though to me, he remained a shadow- invisible, mysterious, and irrelevant to my daily chaos.

And yet in some small intangible way, those early moments whispered that our worlds would eventually collide.

Little did I know, the school year had more surprises in store — not that I cared much about the "school" part. The playground, the classrooms and even the dusty corridor were stages for my imagination. One day, during art class I decided to turn a simple sheet of paper into a whole jungle. Trees, monkeys, and a river everything sprawled across the page. My friends crowded around, squealing over every little detail.

"Hey, you missed a monkey over here!" someone giggled.

"I know! He’s hiding!" I whispered dramatically, pointing at a tiny scribble near the corner of the paper. The room erupted in laughter, and I couldn’t stop grinning. There was something magical about creating my little worlds and watching my friends get lost in them too.

My friends and I had our own codes: secret handshakes, whispered nicknames, and an unspoken agreement that no one outside our little circle could understand our world.

Even in the classroom, life was full of small adventures. I would pretend my pencil was a wand, drawing invisible patterns in the air while waiting for the teacher to turn around. Sometimes, I’d get scolded, but it didn’t matter — the thrill of being in my own little world was worth it.

There were quiet moments too, though I didn’t think much about them then. Sitting by the window, watching the clouds drift, doodling little cartoons in the margins of my notebook. Those were the moments when I felt like myself, completely absorbed in my imagination.

I had friends, of course, and they were loud, silly, and endlessly entertaining. We plotted little pranks on the teachers- harmless ones, like hiding chalk or swapping our seats.

One time, we replaced the chalk with a stick of soap, and the teacher spent a whole class trying to write on the board before realizing. We controlled our laughter so hard, tears filling our eyes as we tried not to get caught.

Walking home, my friends and I talked about everything- cartoons, favorite snacks, who could jump the farthest, and which teacher will forget to check our homework again. Life was simple, chaotic, and endlessly fascinating.

Those years shaped me, not the lessons in the textbooks but the friendships, the games, the small victories and the countless moments of embarrassment and laughter. I didn’t know it yet, but all those tiny experiences were quietly preparing me for the complicated, messy, and beautiful emotions I would face later.

When I woke up, the house already smelled like a festival- a mix of incense and delicious pudding. My mother was running around in her cotton Dress. I sat on the bed blinking, trying to remember why everyone was suddenly so loud.

Then it hit me. Aunt Kaira’s wedding. Dad’s sister.

Which meant: loud songs, shiny clothes, and me being forced to smile at people who all said the same thing- "Oh my god, you’ve grown so much!"

I hadn’t grown that much. I was still in grade three, my socks still had holes, and my braid always came loose halfway through the day. But today, Mom said I had to Look proper That meant proper braid because my hair easily gets stuck together like bushes and a dress- definitely not white. Otherwise, it might turn yellow or brown at the end of the ceremony.

The courtyard was full of relatives that I didn’t know but apparently knew me since I was this small, which they kept showing with their fingers.

Uncle Ray pinched my cheeks so hard, I thought my face would stay squished forever.

"Our little princess! Ready to dance?".

"I only dance when I get paid" I said, which made Dad cough into his hand to hide his laugh.

But then my cousin Rhea- 2 years older and already acting like she knew everything about life, grabbed my hand.

"Come on, let’s go see the decorations before all the boring people start talking".

The decorations were something else. Strings of jasmine everywhere, fairy lights trying to shine even though the sun was still bright, and a big stage covered in beautiful cloth where my aunt would sit later, looking like a movie heroine.

Rhea whispered, "You know, she’s marrying a guy from Foreign. He’s rich. They say he even has a car with a TV inside".

I gasped like that was the wildest thing I’d ever heard.

"A car and a TV? What if they watch cartoons while driving?"

She shrugged. "Adults are weird. They probably watch the news."

Later, when everyone started lining up for lunch, I found Dad near the restroom area. He was talking to someone- his cousin, I think. They were laughing, but his eyes looked tired in a way I hadn’t seen before.

I tugged at his sleeve.

"Dada, can I wear sneakers under my Dress? It’s too long anyway."

He chuckled. "If your mother sees that, she’ll start a second wedding just to scold you properly."

I smiled, but something in me paused. He was smiling differently. I didn’t understand it then, but I think he was remembering his sister as the little girl who used to steal his mangoes, not as the bride sitting inside with her Beautiful bridal dress.

When the groom’s car arrived, all the chaos broke loose.

People started welcoming them and started dancing in happiness, even the uncles who couldn’t find rhythm tried, kids running between feet and aunties adjusting their make in restroom while pretending they were too shy to dance.

Rhea and I joined too, mostly hopping up and down because we didn’t know the steps. One of the uncles gave us two coins each for Good energy. We ran to the corner shop and bought orange candy.

While chewing mine, I saw Aunt Kaira peeking through the window from inside the house. She was smiling, but her hands were shaking as she fixed her bracelet.

I waved at her. She waved back, eyes shiny.

For a moment, everything felt quiet- even with music pounding outside.

The wedding itself went on forever. People kept blessing, clapping, shouting instructions, and fanning themselves with invitation cards. I sat next to my neighbouring grandma, who was complaining that the rice wasn’t cooked properly but still managed to eat two plates.

Halfway through the ceremony, I got bored and slipped away. The jasmine lights were glowing now, the evening air was sticky and warm. Fireflies blinked near the trees, and I could still hear laughter behind me.

Then I saw Dad again- standing near the gate, talking softly to someone on the phone. His voice cracked once, just a little.

I didn’t call out to him. I just stood there, watching the man who always seemed strong suddenly look like a small boy saying goodbye to his sister.

When the bride and groom finally left, everyone threw flowers and cried. I didn’t cry, but something twisted inside me- like when you finish your favorite chocolate and realize there’s no more left.

I suddenly started running behind them, reaching the window of my aunt's wedding car. They slowed down the speed and I asked her "Aunty, why are you crying? And where are you going? When will you come back..?"

Kaira Aunty replied in a cracked and sore voice.

"It's Nothing. My eyes were sore from all activities today. Don't worry- ruru, I will come to visit again after 2-3 days. So, go back home, ok..?".

After that she turned away- silent and covered her face with hands. I stand still outside the window watching the car gaining its speed reaching away from my view.

Suddenly, I realized- my eyes had water in them without any reason. Tears. That's when I knew about the emotion called- Separation.

When Mom said I was going to study in the city, my first thought was- Finally, a place where I could eat noodles without someone shouting, It’s bad for your throat!

I was going to be in grade four now, and apparently, my bright little brain needed more space to grow. Dad said it like my head was a plant pot. But I didn’t argue- I’d seen enough movies where kids lived in big hostels, laughed with friends in bunk beds, and had adventures sneaking snacks after lights out. I was ready for that life.

The morning we left, I wore my best sneakers and carried a brand-new water bottle that still smelled like plastic. Grandma cried like I was moving to Mars, even though the city was just one day away.

"Don’t forget to eat properly," she sniffed.

I nodded half-listening, mostly trying to stop my bag from unzipping again.

"I’ll eat extra properly!" I promised.

Mom hugged me tighter than usual. "You’re going to love it," she said, though her voice trembled at the end. Dad was the calm one, like always. He handed me a packet of candies for emergencies.

"Candy is an emergency," I told him.

He laughed, "Exactly what I thought."

The drive to the city felt endless. The road went through fields and tiny shops until buildings started replacing trees. The air changed too- it smelled like wet concrete and fried things, not like home's mix of earth and soap.

When we reached the hostel gate, I pressed my face to the car window. It was taller than I expected painted beige white, with big windows and a playground that had exactly one swing working.

A woman in a green sweater walked toward us with a clipboard. She smiled in a tired-but-kind way.

"You must be our new student," she said to me. "Welcome to Hillcrest Junior."

I nodded, pretending not to be nervous. "Do you have movie nights?"

She blinked, then smiled wider. "Sometimes. Usually on Saturdays."

Score.

My room was on the second floor. Seven bunk beds and ten cupboards filled the room, with two large windows overlooking the bamboo forest and two small ventilation windows positioned directly opposite them.

The beds already had mattresses placed on them, so I started testing each one to find the comfiest and best. Only one bed has been chosen so far.

I lay on them one by one, skipping the ones that were stained, too hard, or too soft.

“Finally, this is it!” I squeaked with happiness. “I found my ideal bed -not too soft, not too hard.”

It was perfect- almost at the center, between the two big windows on the lower bunk. Not too dark, not too bright.

One of the girls came in her hair short, a wide smile and a presence that felt instantly welcoming. Her shiny tan skin was neither too light nor too dark, almost like my favorite milk chocolate. She was really sweet too, once again reminding me of that same milk chocolate.

“I’m Kimmy,” she said. “That’s my bed. Don’t touch my stickers.”

I grinned. “I’m not a sticker thief.”

We immediately clicked and became friends instantly.

The first night, I couldn’t sleep. The corridor lights stayed on, casting a yellow glow through the ventilation window. Somewhere, a fan squeaked in a slow rhythm. I turned and whispered, “Kimmy, you awake?”

She mumbled something about pizza and snored again.

I smiled into the dark. The room smelled like soap and someone’s lavender lotion. It didn’t feel like home yet, but it didn’t feel scary either. More like standing at the top of a slide, about to push off.

More children came as the classes started the next day, and wow -city kids were different.

They wore their hair in fancy ways and talked about things, I didn’t even know were real.

During the break, one boy asked where I was from.“From a town near the hills,” I said.

He nodded, serious. “Do you get Wi-Fi there?”

“Sometimes the goats block it,” I said straight-faced.

He looked horrified. Then I laughed and so did he.

Hostel life was nothing like the movies.

It was better in some ways, worse in others.

We had to wake up at 5:30- yes, a.m. -for jogging. Seven rounds around the 150-meter oval ground first, then more exercise right after, which honestly felt illegal. But breakfast was pancakes sometimes and on birthdays, we got chocolate milk. So I forgave them.

Kimmy and I grew closer and I started sharing my fav dried fruits with her before sleeping at night. And there was one more girl named- Kaira, sounds familiar right? Yes! she had the same name as my aunty, so it felt like it was meant to be together and our group gained one more member. Yay!

Evenings were the best. It was our club time, so I applied for the martial art class immediately. Then after the club, it was time for swimming, I got ready quickly- wearing my newly bought swimming costume but I didn't know how to swim -still excited, only to be disappointed because they took us to a 3.5 ft. depth swimming pool. It was kind of reasonable but still I screamed inside aghhagagagh!!

After dinner, we’d sit in the dorm and talk about home- everyone’s stories mixing together like a weird but warm soup. Some missed their pets, some missed their moms’ cooking, and some just missed not having to make their bed every morning.

I talked about Grandma’s garden and how she once chased a cow with a broom. Kimmy said she missed her baby brother’s smell- like milk and toothpaste. Another girl who was the same as Kimmy called Lia, she didn’t say much but once, when she thought no one was listening, she hummed a song under her breath. It felt like longing.

I was friendly with everyone but still not as close as my own group of girls.Sometimes I’d call home after dinner.

“Are you eating well?” Mom always asked first.

“Yes! Today we had macaroni. With peas!” I said, as if peas were a luxury.

Dad’s voice would float in from behind her. “Making any trouble?”

“Working on it,” I’d say.

But every time I hung up, I’d stare at the phone for a second longer. Not because I was sad exactly- just because home suddenly felt like a TV show, I could only watch in reruns.

One rainy night, the power went out.

Everyone screamed for about three seconds before the emergency lights came on. But suddenly Lia suggested a new offer "How about we start a runway.?"

Suddenly everyone got excited and brought out their torches and one girl switched off the lights again.

One by one, we tied our night wear turning them into something fashionable, taking turns to walk as we flash lights on each others.

And like that our personal runway began. We laughed hard, till the warden shouted for silence.

The next morning, the sun looked golden through the hostel window.

Finally! a saturday then somewhere downstairs, the breakfast bell rang.

Lia groaned. “Do we have to get up?”

“Of course,” I said. “What if it’s pancake day?”

As I ran down the stairs with my friends, I realized something.

I wasn’t just visiting this place anymore.

It was starting to sound like mine- laughter bouncing off the walls, names shouted across hallways, the clatter of spoons and dreams that didn’t quite fit yet but might someday.

And for a grade-four kid with a messy braid and sneakers that squeaked, that was enough. More than enough.