the farewell

The garden thronged with life, from the vivid grass to the staid oaks with welcoming arms, to the multicoloured crowd that sprawled around it in little groups. like a periscope turning, the pattern of people changed constantly, lone figures breaking off from their respective groups to trip and bound across the lawn to another, in an unorchestrated yet beautiful movement.
To the side of the garden, a group of girls tearfully hugged each other, reaching across to form last-bonds, before time and tide swept between them and left them stranded upon different shores. Weak smiles and tearful glances were exchanged, along with contact info and promises of visits. It was time to say goodbye.
She hugged preetha, wanting to squeeze out another moment of friendship, just before they parted. Out of the corner of here eye, another group went through a similiar round of actions, and she steeled herself. It was time. She broke off with a final squeeze and walked across the lawn, a smile plastered on her face. She would remember this feeling, this final desperate tug of her heart, even as she shut that door behind her, forever.
"Hey. A hug?" She smiled, a careless, friendly smile. Even as his arms wrapped around her, she felt desolation sweep past her, as she felt his thin arms barely touch her, palms resting feather-light on her shoulders. She hugged him, feeling just how thin he was, before releasing him. In that split second of nearness, she inhaled his scent, singular and intoxicating, a scent that she would cherish. Yet when she turned her back towards him and gave a soft sigh, she felt that familiarity escape, and before she had crossed the lawn to yet another group, she had forgotten his scent. All she remembered was the bliss that accompanied it, and the jump-start it gave to her.
He left in his car, turning back as he pulled away to give that signature smile, that one last hearty wave to the crowd that was his friends. As he turned to face the road once more, his gaze lingered for a moment on her, and he saw a sparkling thread wind down her cheek, as sunlight hit the path of tears as it coursed down. He eyed her from his rear-view mirror, and he felt a pang. He had done nothing to attract her to him, said nothing memorable to her, and there she was, his friend, crying for him. He was confused. Friends. This had not been his first camp, and he had come prepared. The friends he made here did not matter, not when summer waned and he moved on. And yet this group of friends had been stitched into the cloth of his heart, and now he loathed to pick the stitches out again. Especially when one had embroidered a little, inconspicious heart in it. He would wear it as a badge, as a booster when he was another nameless face in a sea of strangers, treading the rubber hallway of life.