I woke with a quiet certainty.
The kind that doesn't scream or shake you awake — just lingers like a soft hand on your shoulder. I didn't need the calendar to tell me what day it was.
This was it.
The last day I remembered before everything changed. The final dot on the map of my old life. Beyond this, I had no memory of what came next.
It was uncharted.
Unwritten.
And maybe… that was the point.
The house was quieter than usual. The kind of quiet that didn't feel empty, just calm. I brushed my teeth slower. Took longer choosing my shirt. I kept stealing glances at the mirror, half-expecting to see the reflection flicker, or a crack form somewhere — but it didn't.
I was still here.
Still sixteen.
Still… him.
I packed my bag even though I didn't really need to. Something about the weight of it felt grounding. Real.
Then I walked to the kitchen — not because I was hungry, but because I needed to see her.
Mom was peeling potatoes, her bangles clinking gently.
She looked up and smiled like she always did. "You're early today. Everything okay?"
I didn't trust my voice.
So I nodded, walked up, and hugged her from behind.
She froze for a second — surprised, maybe. Then her hand came up and rested on mine. "You're acting like you're going away somewhere," she said with a chuckle.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "No. Just… just wanted to say thank you. For everything."
She didn't ask why.
She just smiled deeper.
I left early.
I walked to Harish's place, took the long route past the park where we used to ride our bikes till dusk. He was sitting on the porch, a badminton racket in hand, chewing gum like always.
"What's up?" he said. "You look like you're about to propose to someone."
I grinned. "Kind of."
I sat next to him and we didn't talk for a minute. Just watched a butterfly flit between the bougainvillea vines.
Then I told him — not everything, not the impossible parts, but enough.
Enough to say: "I'm sorry I wasn't always the friend you deserved."
He blinked. "Dude. What's gotten into you?"
"Nothing. I just… wanted to say it before it was too late."
He tilted his head. "Too late for what?"
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't know either.
By sunset, I'd visited my old school, my brother's favorite tea stall, and even the narrow alley behind our house where I used to scribble lyrics on the wall.
I touched every piece of my memory like it might disappear any second.
And when the streetlights flickered on and the wind picked up, I went home.
I had no idea what would happen tomorrow.
Would I wake up older again? Would the world snap back to where it had left me?
But I did know this much:
If this was my last day here,
I wanted the world to remember me not by my mistakes —
but by my quiet goodbyes.
And maybe, just maybe…
I wanted to remember myself that way too.