Echoes of Yesterday

My best friend was always the most sorted person I knew.

Since we were 12, she had a clarity most adults could only wish for. While we were busy playing “teacher-teacher” or brushing our Barbies’ shiny hair, she’d wrap her mom’s scarf around her neck, borrow her glasses, and pretend to be a news reporter. She’d go on with her “breaking news” about the neighborhood, and we’d beg her to wrap it up so we could get back to our dolls.

Turns out, she wasn’t playing. She was already preparing for the life she’d build.

Before we knew it, childhood sped past and we were catching up on work calls from office washrooms. I had a million things to rant about—my boss, coworkers, my salary, my drama. And her? She was the same—calm, focused, sorted.

She’d made it. A respected journalist, just given a primetime slot on a major channel. She worked crazy hours, hunted stories like treasure, and somehow still looked camera-ready. Our conversations became mostly one-sided—me unloading, her listening.

Eventually, we blew out the candles on our thirty-something birthdays. I had a decent job, fewer complaints, but still my share of uncertainties. And she was still her—the most sorted person I knew.

She’d recently met someone. “I think he’s it,” she told me one night. He was calm, kind, and in awe of her. They got married in a simple ceremony—just close friends and family. I cried the hardest when she left for a new home in a new city. She was starting her own news company—focusing on real, untold stories.

A few months into her new chapter, she called me: “Come to Pune. I’ve got news.” She’d already emailed the tickets. That’s how she was—no drama, just action.

We sat in her garden, sipping chai as the sun faded. Then she said, “I’m pregnant. I don’t know how this happened.” I laughed, “Really? You don’t?” She smiled, but her face held worry. “I just launched the company, things are hectic… I always wanted to be a mom, just… not yet.” I hugged her tightly. “Congratulations, my love. This is beautiful. Don’t overthink it.” Her “sorted” self returned. “Yeah… I’ll be 40 next year. Maybe it’s the right time after all.”

We sat until stars filled the sky, wrapped in quiet.

Fast forward to her daughter’s 6th birthday. I was back in that same garden, this time with my husband, sipping wine. “This is where she told me she was pregnant,” I whispered.

We laughed, sang songs, played silly games with her little one. A waiter snapped a photo of the three of us—her, me, and her daughter. Close to 2 a.m., the guests left. We collapsed into bed for our usual gossip session.

Then came a screech. Silence. We were too tired to check. Fifteen minutes later, her phone rang.

Everything changed. Her daughter had slipped out of the house. No one knows why. A speeding car hit her. The driver didn’t stop.

It would’ve been her 16th birthday today.

We sat in that same garden again, but nothing felt the same. My best friend—the strong, unshakable force in my life—wasn’t there anymore. Physically, yes. But emotionally, she was somewhere else. Stuck in yesterday.

Sometimes, life doesn’t hand us closure.It leaves us with echoes—of laughter, of moments, of yesterday's that never really leave.