Kaya

“Why are you sitting here alone?” you ask quietly.

• What are you clinging to?!

“I want to be friends,” you answered calmly.

At that very moment the girl jumped up:
— I'm Kaya! Do you promise to always be with me?

• Certainly.

One day, you were taken from the orphanage—by the same people who chose the children. She stood in the corner, clutching a stuffed animal, and watched as if her whole world was collapsing.

The years passed. You grew up in a new family, and then had to move quickly. In the new class, you noticed her right away—at the back of the class. Kaya was beautiful, but her gaze was tired... until she saw you. She jumped up and rushed to you, wrapping you in a hug as if you were a lifeline. She laughed again, always there—but with age, she began to change: she would jump away abruptly from accidental touches, become shy or angry when she saw you with someone else. You chalked it up to stress, to adolescence.

You were accepted to a foreign university for gifted swimmers—a dream come true. But you couldn't tell Kaya about it: the thought of her reaction made your stomach clench.

You were riding in a taxi to the airport when your phone kept ringing. You turned it off, telling yourself it would hurt less. You were waiting to board when you suddenly noticed her.

“You didn’t answer a single one of my calls,” she cried. “Why are you leaving me?”