I rushed off the train, excited about finally getting a chance to reconnect with my old friends in Shanghai. I couldn’t contain my smile as I hurried my mom along toward the exit. Every second wasted was a second away from my friends. I prayed that the taxi we called would arrive soon, that every car in front of us would move faster, that every stoplight would be green. I just wanted to be there already!

Sometimes ignorance really is bliss.

My three guy friends meant so much to me. The four of us attended the same American school in Shanghai together. Surprisingly, the demanding, stressful year of eighth grade became my favorite school year because of them. They were the ones who took time from their crammed schedules to help me edit my essays. They were the ones who reassured me when I was worried. During that one year we became closer than friends I had known for years.

Evan was a hardworking math and programming genius who was always on top of his academics. He was also a talented writer. I remember how once, with surgical precision, he helped me cut down my six-page English assignment to three pages, condensing it to its essence.

Johnathan was everyone’s personal therapist; there was seemingly no one he would not help out in a pinch. He was the person you would call whether you were being chased by a grizzly bear or you got your period while wearing a white dress. We first met in my SAT prep class, which was a blast because of him. From competing in trivia, to intense sessions of Dancing Line during breaks, to walking across the street for ice cream, together we survived the stress of high school applications. We counseled each other when it became too much.

Finally there was Tim, the one I could always rely on to reply to texts almost instantly in our group chat. Whether the rest of us were trying to guess his crush or just needed someone to rant to, he was there. We met in debate class. Tim was an eloquent speaker, as well as funny and engaging. I admired how his speeches and rebuttals could be assertive and explosive, while he remained logical and calm throughout.

We became a close network of support in every way. From playing an escape game as a team of four to sharing our favorite books, we all contributed to the group and learned from one another. Over time, we rubbed off on each other so much that our catchphrases, the ways we interacted, and even the way we texted became similar.

We decided to meet up at the mall across from our old school. When I saw the place again, nostalgic memories flooded my head. There was the bakery where I used to buy the next day’s breakfast, the pizzeria where so many birthdays were celebrated, and the iconic juice stand with incredible mango boba smoothies. It’s true: you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.

As I walked into the Family Mart, I remembered buying rice rolls and barbecued chicken, Oreos and Hi-Chews. The same cashier was still working there, the one who always smiled and talked with me. But when our eyes met, his no longer lit up. His lips no longer lifted into a smile. I was nothing more than a stranger to him. His memory of me had faded away. I felt my stomach tighten, worried this was a harbinger of more disappointment to come. I took a deep breath and tried to shake off this foreboding feeling. It didn’t matter, as long as I could see my friends.

The entrance bell rang, and I glimpsed a familiar haircut over the top of the aisle. Johnathan! He’s here! I felt anticipation, excitement, nostalgia. But something else was buried deep inside me too, something nervous and worried, trapped inside a bottle that began to slowly unscrew its lid.

“Hey!” I smiled.

“Hey,” Johnathan replied.

Silence. Already?

“So … how have you been?”

It’ll pick up, I told myself. I was never much good at starting conversations anyway. While we were awkwardly chatting, Evan came in. He took me by surprise. In one’s memories, the people you leave behind never change. In my mind, he was still the one we would tease playfully about his height (or lack thereof) and how he wore his rotation of approximately five T-shirts. Now I marveled at his height. He must have grown a good four inches. It seemed like someone had stretched him out. He was taller and thinner, with a longer jaw. It’s only natural, I tried to reassure myself. Everybody changes.

Besides, what was one year of separation? Just a measly speed bump in a road that stretched out forever toward the horizon. We tried to catch up, talking about all the things that had happened to us since our lives diverged. Johnathan had finally adjusted to his new school. I was glad he made it past his initial late-night depressing texts and complaints about his grades in Spanish. Evan got accepted into a boarding school after his second try, and I was truly happy for him. For an instant it felt like we were back to the time when we all studied like crazy together, sharing our stress over boarding school applications and our excitement over our acceptance letters. But soon the answers became a little shorter, and the silence between each question became a little longer. Before we knew it, we were struggling to make conversation.

My head began to spin. Texting made everything so much easier. There were no awkward silences, no expectant glances. No need to come up with a topic simply just to talk. Had I become a stereotypical teen who could only communicate on her phone? All these thoughts filled my head in a simple second of silence.

With another ring of the Family Mart doorbell, Tim dashed in. Calling everyone by their nicknames, he brought liveliness back to a dying conversation with his festive spirit. I felt relief. Why? I screamed at myself internally. Why wasn’t it joy or excitement? Just relief? 

We all headed over to a newly built Japanese fast food restaurant, a chain that I loved when I was younger. We sat down and ordered, but before long the awkwardness began to swirl around me. A smile at the brink of collapse is the hardest to muster.

My bottle of emotions began to crack. I dug my heels into the floor and gripped the chair with my sweaty hands. As the others began to talk about the assignments they had due tomorrow, it hit me that I barely had anything in common with them. I was looking for something that was already gone. Every word they spoke was a pair of scissors, snipping away the strings of our connection.

Could a year of separation possibly be an unexpected jagged cliff we drove off, unable to ever return? A wall, cold and impenetrable, dividing us instead of uniting us? My heart raced, and my ears stung. I slowly began to shut down and withdrew myself from the conversation. Everything was going wrong. This wasn’t the sweet, heartwarming reunion I had in mind. They were my friends. But it all seemed to be falling apart in front of my eyes.

My bottle of emotions shattered, and glass shards flew. Fear. Disappointment. Embarrassment. All I had to offer were fake giggles. I tried to pretend that we were still connected, that we still had a chance. But I knew. What we once shared had ended, and the strings that once connected us seemed to be tied in other directions. We were now more comfortable at a distance, engaging in a virtual friendship over texts. The worst part was that distance had helped continue our friendship, but a reunion was what severed it. How ironic.

They say “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” But I knew it would take a lot of crying before I could smile again.