The final day of preschool arrived with an air of quiet melancholy. The playground, usually filled with laughter and excitement, felt different that morning—softer somehow, like the world itself was sensing an ending. Arin sat with Lyra and Kai, the three of them huddled together under the shade of a tree, watching other children play and say their goodbyes.
Arin's heart felt heavy. He had spent countless hours with these friends, learning, laughing, and growing together. And now, preschool was ending. The thought of being separated from them filled him with an unfamiliar ache.
Lyra's small hand reached for his. "Arin… will we still meet after this?" she asked softly, her eyes wide and worried.
Arin smiled, trying to hide the lump forming in his throat. "Of course, Lyra. We'll see each other again. I promise."
Kai, sitting a little apart from them, looked unusually still. His expression was calm, almost indifferent, but Arin noticed a faint tension around his eyes and jaw. It was subtle, but after months of observing him, Arin could tell Kai was feeling just as sad as they were.
"Yeah," Kai finally said, his voice even. "Let's meet again sometime. I… I don't want to forget this."
Arin nodded, his own throat tight. "We won't. No matter what, we'll meet again."
Lyra leaned on Arin's shoulder, quietly sniffing back tears. Arin placed a comforting hand on her back. "It's okay to be sad," he whispered. "But we'll stay friends no matter what."
They shared a quiet moment, just the three of them, holding on to the last fragments of their preschool days. Around them, other children hugged their friends and teachers, the air filled with mixed emotions—laughter, cries, and whispered promises.
When the bell finally rang for the last time, signaling the end of the school year, the three friends stood together. Kai looked straight ahead, his face composed, but Arin could see the tension in his shoulders.
"Goodbye, Arin. Goodbye, Lyra," Kai said, his voice firm but soft. "Take care."
Arin's eyes met his, and he saw something fleeting—vulnerability hidden beneath the calm exterior. "You too, Kai. Don't forget us," he said sincerely.
Lyra squeezed both their hands. "We'll come visit, right?" she asked, voice trembling.
Kai nodded stiffly. "Yes… of course."
Then, slowly, they began to walk in different directions. Arin stayed back a moment longer, watching as Kai's figure grew smaller down the path. He noticed something that made his chest tighten: the moment Kai thought no one was watching, a single tear slid down his cheek.
Arin's heart ached. For a kid so composed, so strong on the outside, seeing Kai cry quietly was startling. The boy had carried himself with a maturity far beyond his age, hiding emotions behind a calm mask, yet here, the pain of separation had broken through—even if only for a moment.
Lyra clutched Arin's arm tightly, and he gently squeezed back. "He's okay," Arin said softly, though his own eyes stung. "Even strong people… they feel sadness too."
They walked home together in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The laughter and chatter of preschool had faded, replaced by a quiet reflection. Arin thought about how much they had grown—not just in skills, but in understanding, in empathy, and in friendship.
We'll meet again, Arin promised himself silently. No matter what, we'll find each other again.
As they reached their homes, he took one last look at the path where Kai had disappeared. Despite the sadness, there was hope in his heart. Life had changed for all of them, and while this chapter had ended, new beginnings were waiting.