One Last Time

J had left the place never to return back. The room was cleaned of any remaining vestiges of value and then with one quick glance of a sweeping look he had closed the door and locked it in one fluid motion. He was full of excitement, the feeling was the first of such feelings to come and he could hardly contain them. M could detect a sense of victory in J, who was the first one to leave. Brimming with it, J did not realize that this was the one last time he'd be able to lock his door here, and that once he did, it was now no longer his room. Somebody he may or may not know will come by the end of holidays to live here. Everybody else had begun to think, albeit unconsciously, of the so many hours of countless days they had spent in this room, discussing things, debating over sundry seemingly undebatable issues, disproving P's absurd contentions and then bursting into roaring laughter interspersed with taunts most of which would continue (much to P's not-so-well-hidden displeasure) to live on for weeks as dinner time anecdotes to recall, and, most importantly looking for that big, blue jug of water that J had always kept full and usually poorly hidden. Rubbing their eyes, they carried the luggage to the gate of the hostel where they waited for the cab to show up. The night was windy and it was three in the morning. The cab arrived shortly and parked itself near the gate. A few of them pulled the luggage up to the cab and J shoved them inside, as M perched himself up on a ledge.

Every year, M was always the first one to leave the place for holidays. He seemed to think that he did not belong there, but so did a lot of people. M would always be the one waving goodbyes to his friends who came to see him off till the hostel gate. The anticipation of a long journey finally taking him home had always been mesmerizing. And even after all so many of such trips, the charm never seemed to wear off. But this time was different. Having never been at the receiving end of those farewell waves, he had never realized that it was a sort of bereavement. Even though, he knew he'd be going soon too, this thought did not seem to hold well against the grief that was getting stronger by the minute. The closely knit group, which had stood together through the thicks and thins of a student life for four years, had broken with a definite finality. The cab shuddered with ignition and they saw their friend slowly speeding away. And, with smiles on their faces they returned to their rooms discussing yet another one of J's quirks.