Until we became grandmas

Uhhh... same old morning again. I can’t believe I have to go to college today.

I don’t wanna.

Marim shrank inside her ribcage, yawning through bones that cracked with every twist.

"Aargh, I’m getting old," she groaned, despite being just twenty-one.

With a lazy sigh, she slid deeper into her blanket, hoping to avoid the sun’s kisses peeking through the curtains and landing soft and warm on her cheeks. The morning was beautiful—but painfully enthusiastic.

Defeated by sunlight and reality, she finally dragged her body to the bathroom.

Nearly an hour passed—between shampooing, zoning out in hot water, and brushing her teeth with existential crisis. Meanwhile, her best friend-slash-teammate had been pounding the bathroom door like a demon summoned by lateness.

"You’re not washing your sins in there, Marim! Hurry up!"

Harim — Marim’s other half — had been there since the very beginning.

Childhood friends, born just two months apart. Their families had moved into the neighborhood on the same day, and from then on, their lives seemed to run in perfect parallel. Same kindergarten, same school, same college — as if the whole thing had been stitched together by God Himself.

Coincidences like this were rare… and precious.

Back to the present—

“Oi! Are you getting out or not?” Harim’s voice thundered through the door, followed by a bang that rattled it on its hinges.

Marim was still lost in her foggy morning thoughts. She didn’t come out because Harim yelled — she came out because her own daydream finally dissolved.

They stood face to face.

Harim’s glare was sharp enough to pierce through steel — dark eyes pulling Marim in like a black hole.

“What?” Marim asked blankly, not having the faintest clue why her best friend was looking at her like that.

“Don’t ‘what’ me! Don’t you know we’re running late? Were you using the washroom… or constructing it?” Harim snapped, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, move aside. I need to take a shower.”

She gave Marim a light shove with her shoulder on her way in.

Marim pouted. Hmm… she’s always yelling at me.

But she knew the truth — Harim was the only one who loved her the most.

Their friendship was no less than sisterhood. They never even thought of themselves as “friends,” but as something closer — as if blood alone could never define them.

Every day, they watered the plant named friendship. And like any living thing, it could only grow lush and beautiful if both owners gave it attention. But if one day it didn’t get proper care… it would wither, and fall apart.

Not knowing what the day held for them, Harim and Marim headed out for college together.

First lecture gone, then another, now here comes the third one — boring history.

But today it’s my favorite period… because Professor Nelson is absent.

Tsk tsk… I love history, why does Prof. Nelson have to be absent today?

Other students laughed at my mocking statement.

Almost everyone hates Professor Nelson’s lecture except me and Harim. Harim dreams of becoming an archaeologist — she’s always fascinated by old scriptures, literature, antiques, all those things.

So when everyone started making fun of him, Harim couldn’t hold back.

"Isn’t it the lowest of the low to talk behind someone’s back when they’re not here?”

Her words stabbed right through them. The whole class went silent — needle-drop silent. All eyes shifted to Harim.

Pft… who is she? Nelson’s little benefactor or something?

The insults started going beyond limits.

I felt uncomfortable. I couldn’t stand seeing my friend made fun of like that, but instead of taking her side, I pulled Harim’s shirt and whispered, “Harim, let’s not do this. They’re just idiots. You don’t have to prove anything.”

"What do you mean prove? Didn’t you see them insulting Prof. Nelson—"

"I know," I cut her words, "but we’re just students. What more can we do? This is how they are. If we speak up, we just turn the whole class against us.”

Harim knows I’m a little bit conservative, I don’t say much, so she doesn’t push it. But she still said,

"When we missed our last semester exam because we reached the hall late, didn’t Prof. Nelson help us? He lost one month’s salary because of us, and he still didn’t think, ‘Why should I help someone when it’s not my fault?’"

She was clearly upset… especially when they started bringing his wife and son into it.

I had nothing left to say.

"I’m sorry," I said, lowering my head.

Her anger didn’t even last two seconds. She sighed and wrapped me in a tight teddy bear hug.

"Shh, idiot. I’m not angry at you, it just came out on you."

Hehe… I know, I laughed softly, I’m not angry either.

After that day, everything changed.

The whole class started bullying Harim, calling her Nelson’s benefactor, Nelson’s little lawyer, and other stupid names. The consequences didn’t just fall on Harim — I felt them too.

But Harim… she’s stronger than anyone I know. Every time they tried to insult her, she threw back some sharp, punching line that shut them up.

So they realized they couldn’t break her.

That’s when they shifted their ugly tactics towards me.

Today, on my way home, a group of girls from my class approached me.

I knew it. They were here to bully me — I could feel it in my bones.

I prepared myself for anything.

"How are you, Marim?" one of them asked.

Uhh? I froze, confused. For a second, I thought they’d stopped the wrong person. But no — the name Marim was mine, and no one else in the college had it.

“I’m fine,” I replied, hesitating.

I took a moment to look at their faces, trying to understand what was happening. Before I could say anything, one of them spoke.

“I’m Zoey, and she’s Abby. We’re from the same class.”

“I know already,” I replied.

“Oh really? That’s good then — help us with something.”

“What for?”

“We heard you’re good with history. Please give us the notes you made.”

“Why? We don’t even know each other.”

They’re definitely going to bad-mouth me right now, I told myself.

They glanced at each other, then back at me, smiling. “Please help us. If we don’t complete our work, we’re definitely going to fail this exam.”

And then… they both knelt down in front of me.

For a moment, I just gave in and handed over my notes.

After that incident, I started becoming friends with them. The more I talked to them, the more they felt real, not fake. I was happy — finally, I had someone other than Harim to be friends with.

I thought it’d be nice to introduce them to Harim so we could all hang out together. So I prepared a pajama party at our dorm — where Harim and I live together.

I introduced them, but Zoey and Abby didn’t seem to like the idea. Harim had no problem, but the whole night, they left her out.

I felt so bad for her. She didn’t even ask why I’d brought other friends into our space.

When Zoey and Abby finally left, Harim came in holding two bottles of Coke. She tossed one to my side and sat beside me.

They didn’t like her, right?

I hesitated to answer. “I’m sorry, Harim… I thought maybe we could all be friends.”

Instead of getting jealous, she looked proud — proud that I had finally made friends by myself. I was so grateful. I just loved her so much. My best friend never once felt fake in front of me.

But then came the day I wish never existed… the day everything started to drift apart.

We were walking to college when a group of people started commenting on me and Harim. Everything was fine when they targeted Harim — but the moment they shifted their words toward me, Harim snapped.

The fight turned from mocking words to physical shoves. The outcome was bad. I was terrified. Those girls attacked Harim. I tried to stop them, but I wasn’t strong enough. I cried for help.

When one girl tried to approach me, Harim grabbed her hair and shoved her away. The girl’s head hit the wall with a sickening thump. She fell.

Anxiety flooded me when I saw blood. My legs gave out. The other girls ran away, leaving only her lying there.

In fear, I started blaming Harim for everything.

“Why did you push her? It’s all because of you!”

The words kept spilling from my foul mouth until I said it—

“I… I don’t want to be friends with you.”

Silence cut through the air sharper than scissors.

When I finally looked up, it was already too late. Harim stood there, still… eyes filled with tears, staring blankly at me. I hurt her again. But my ego was too heavy — I ran without looking back.

I’m an idiot. Why did I say that? She did it for me… why?

The next day, I went to college and saw a crowd whispering. Deep down, I knew the reason. I prepared myself. But the conversation was only about Harim.

“Didn’t you see, Marim, what Harim did?” someone said.

“What?” I asked.

They showed me a picture — Harim standing beside the girl we fought with yesterday. A discomfort spread through me, but I noticed I wasn’t in the photo. I figured it was taken after I left.

Deep inside, I felt bad, but seeing how everyone reacted to Harim, my confidence shrank. I stayed silent. I’ll talk to her after college, I told myself.

But I didn’t get the chance.

The next day, I was walking the same route when people who looked like relatives of that girl came toward me. Something felt wrong. I ran. My heart pounded in my ears. I just kept running.

In the middle of my panic, my brain finally worked — I hid in a narrow street and dialed Harim’s number.

Isn’t it laughable that in that moment, the first person I thought to call wasn’t my parents or the police… but her?

My voice shook as I explained everything in one breath.

“Hey, calm down. Where are you? I’ll come,” she said.

Her voice soothed me, but it also broke my heart even more, knowing what I had done to her.

“Harim, I’m…”

The call cut off.

“Harim? Harim? What did you say?”

I quickly sent her my location. Harim replied that she was on her way — and that she had already called 911.

But fate is cruel to those just kind enough to hold the world together.

Screeech!

CRASH!

“Oh, there’s been an accident! Oh my God! Someone call an ambulance!”

“What happened?!”

Marim....... Only flash left inside her head ,her face and just like a thread that bind them broken with Sesiors.

Since Harim sent my location to the police, they arrived in time to find me and catch the people who tried to harm me.

The investigation wrapped quickly. I told them everything.

One officer said, “A girl named Harim called us. She sent your location and asked for help. We’ve sent her to her parents.”

But… no news came from Harim after that.

When I went to her house the next day, they got a call. A call that shattered my world.

“She’s no more. Harim is… no longer in this world.”

Hurt.

It felt like someone ripped my chest open.

How could this happen? I had just spoken to her hours ago. And now they were saying she was gone?

I didn’t believe it. No — she was just messing with me. She was mad because I’d said I didn’t want to be friends anymore. This was her cruel little trick.

I refused to accept it. She was alive. It was inhuman to use the word “dead” for someone still breathing.

On top of that, it was April 4th — Harim’s birthday. In just two months, it would be mine. I’d been planning to surprise her, to say sorry. It was too unreal.

Yes, things between us had been messy… but this? No. Mimi must be wrong.

Days passed like that. I didn’t cry, didn’t scream — I just waited. I only came out to eat, then locked myself in my room, staring at my phone. Still waiting for her call.

My parents worried. So did hers.

Then June 17th came — my birthday.

Our parents decided to bring me out, to do something. That’s when they told me Harim had prepared my birthday gift two months ago. They hadn’t opened it. They placed it in my hands.

I pouted. “Why did she send a gift but not come herself?”

The hurt in Harim’s parents’ eyes was indescribable. My own parents looked broken, too. They left me alone with the box.

It was wine-colored, tied with so many ribbons. “Happy Birthday Marim” was written across the top. I giggled. “What a child. She really decorated it herself.”

Inside was a gold-coated friendship badge with my name engraved.

“Wow…” I whispered, holding it carefully.

Then I noticed a folded letter. “Oh, she even wrote me a letter? How old-fashioned… hee hee.”

I opened it.

---

Dear Marim,

My one and only best friend — more like a sister. First of all, happy, happy birthday! I’ve been preparing this gift for months, you know. Since I’m two months older, I have to prepare your birthday early, right?

I’m writing this now because when your birthday comes, I’ll be too busy with the decorations. Too much work!

Mari… I’m sorry. I know you’re angry with me. That’s why I want to say sorry now. I know I have to control my temper. I’m sorry you were so scared because of me.

You know… I still want to be friends with you, even if you don’t want to be friends with me. Hehe. And it’s okay if you don’t talk to me in college — just talk to me outside.

I never felt the need to make other friends because I already have you. But that doesn’t mean I expect you to do the same. I know you tried to introduce me to your friends. It’s not your fault they didn’t like me. I don’t blame you for anything.

I want us to live together for a long, long time… until we’re grandmas with no teeth left, walking with sticks, dancing with wiggly legs. That’s my plan for our future. What’s yours?

This friendship band — one has my name, the other has yours. I’m wearing mine right now. When you’re less angry, I’ll show you.

And yes… I don’t just want us to be friends. I want our children to be friends. And their children, too! Isn’t that too much? Haha.

Anyway, dear Mari… I love you so much. Don’t be mad at me. I promise not to fight anymore. I’ll do anything you say.

Bye-bye,

Your very, very sweet friend,

Harim

Now the tears have dried. There’s nothing left to shed.

I pray every day that if there’s another life, God gives me one more chance.

This time, I will throw away my pride and choose to be part of your world, even if you are reluctant.

I will grab your hand and tell you, “Nothing is your fault.”

I will slap myself if that’s what it takes to wake me up from my stubbornness.

I don’t need anything else besides

you. You are enough for me.

I will be the one who writes you a letter on every birthday until we become grandmas with no teeth left, laughing at our wiggly dances.

And I will be the one who goes to heaven first — because those who fight always arrive late.

My dear Harim…