BY: RONITA
There are some goodbyes that stay with you forever. This is one of mine.
The day before I was leaving for Kathmandu, my closest friend, P, and I decided to spend one day together. But the weather decided not to be on our side. Just as she arrived at my house, dark clouds gathered overhead. We didn’t let that stop us. We put on our raincoats and headed out, only to realize a few minutes later that the scooter’s tire was deflated and needed air to be filled.
As we stopped to fill it, the rain came pouring down. We waited for a while, hoping it would slow, but eventually accepted that getting a little wet was part of the adventure.
We had chosen a place neither of us had ever visited before. Halfway there, we realized the road had turned into thick mud after the rain. Riding any further wasn’t possible.
Google Maps showed another route, but it required walking through a forest. The only problem? Both of us were wearing three-to-four-inch heels. We looked at each other, laughed, and decided to go anyway. The first ten minutes were all uphill. We asked a few locals for directions.
“There’s a forest trail,” they warned us. “There are plenty of leeches, but it only takes us about twenty minutes.”
Leeches! Exactly what neither of us wanted to hear. But turning back somehow felt harder than moving forward. So, we kept walking. Several times I asked P, “Are we really doing this?”
I was worried my heels would break, but somehow, I also knew this would become one of those stories we’d laugh about for years.
After around twenty-five minutes, we spotted the first leeches crawling through the wet grass. Moments later, my heel snapped. Perfect timing. I carried my broken shoes in my hands while trying to avoid stepping into more grass.
Thankfully, we saw a few older men clearing the trail ahead. Just seeing other people was enough to reassure us that we weren’t lost.
When we finally reached them, they pointed at our feet. Both of us had several leeches clinging to our legs. At least seven on each of us. Some had already climbed up to my knees.
Those men handed us leaves and showed us how to remove them. I have always been terrified of leeches, so naturally, I screamed while P patiently helped remove every single one. Blood slowly stained my white pants, but at that point, all we could do was laugh. Barefoot, carrying my broken heels, we continued towards our destination.
And finally…
We made it. The place was beautiful. Peaceful. Worth every muddy step. There was a small boat restaurant floating on the lake where we decided to have lunch. While looking around, I noticed a familiar face.
“He looks exactly like my high school teacher,” I whispered to P. It had been almost ten years. I wasn’t completely sure. As P and I enjoyed the view, took pictures on a swing above the lake, and tried not to think about the fact that neither of us knew how to swim, I heard someone call him by his surname. It really was him.
Without thinking twice, I walked over and introduced myself. He smiled warmly.
He remembered teaching our class, although only for a few weeks, and remembered a few of my classmates. He even offered to take pictures of P and me and reminded us to be careful on the swing hanging over the lake.
Before leaving, he smiled and said, “I’m happy you still remembered me after all these years.”
Then he simply said, “Goodbye. Ramro sanga janu.”
And he left. It was such an ordinary moment. One that didn’t feel important at the time.
About a month later, while scrolling through social media, I came across posts from my former teachers. I froze. They were mourning him. He had passed away. I stared at my screen, hoping I had misunderstood. I hadn’t. Suddenly, my mind went back to that rainy day. To the broken heels. The leeches. The boat. The photographs he took for us. His smile. His goodbye. None of us know which conversation will become our last. None of us actually know which goodbye will be the final one.
That day reminded me of something I still carry with me: life is fragile, and the smallest interactions can become our most treasured memories.
Whenever I look back at the pictures from that trip, I don’t just remember the adventure. I remember a teacher who unknowingly became part of one of my favourite memories. Sometimes, people leave our lives so quietly that we don’t realize the weight of their goodbye until much later. And some goodbyes will stay with us forever.
He said Goodbye, and I never knew it would be the last time!
