The bell rang, and the classroom erupted with the usual chatter of students grabbing their bags and rushing for the door. Vyre and Seth were at the back, taking their time. It was one of those slow afternoons when the sun slanted just right through the windows, painting golden lines across the floor. Their teacher was still erasing the blackboard, the scent of chalk lingering in the air.
"Wanna go to the park again?" Seth asked, slinging his bag over one shoulder.
"Can't today," Vyre replied, tying the laces on his shoes. "Dad's picking me up."
"Aw, really? You sure you can't sneak out for ten minutes?"
Vyre chuckled. "He'll kill me if I make him wait. Next time, I promise."
They walked down the hallway side by side, weaving through kids racing past them. Their fingers brushed for a moment, but neither said anything. It wasn't unusual. Just something that happened.
As they stepped out the school gates, a sleek black car pulled up by the curb. Vyre's father stepped out, dressed in a crisp polo and sunglasses, looking out of place among the chaotic energy of school dismissal.
"There he is," Vyre mumbled. "Mr. Businessman himself."
Seth grinned. "Tell him I said hi."
Vyre rolled his eyes and turned to Seth. "I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"
"Same time?"
"Same place," Vyre smiled, lifting his hand for a high five.
They smacked palms, then bumped fists like they always did. It was their little ritual. One of a thousand small things that tied them together like invisible threads.
Vyre didn't know that this would be the last time.
---
The car ride was quiet, unusually so. His father didn't speak much—he just kept driving, eyes focused on the road. Vyre noticed they didn't take the usual way home.
"Dad?" he asked, glancing out the window. "This isn't the way."
"I know."
Vyre frowned. "Then where are we going?"
His father sighed, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. "I need you to trust me, son."
That was never a good sign.
"Are we going somewhere?"
"Just... just rest for now."
Vyre didn't rest. His chest felt tight. Something was wrong. The buildings outside got taller, the roads busier. And then—his heart dropped—the airport came into view.
He sat up straight. "What the hell?"
"Vyre—"
"You're taking me now?" Vyre's voice cracked. "You said we were going next month! You didn't even tell me!"
His father parked the car and looked at him seriously. "It's better this way."
"Better for who?!" Vyre was trembling. "You didn't even let me say goodbye to Mom... to Seth..."
"He'll be fine," his father said too casually. "You're young. You'll make new friends."
Vyre felt like he couldn't breathe.
"No," he said quietly. "No. This isn't fair."
But no one was listening. The world around him moved forward anyway—bags were loaded, passports checked, tickets handed over. Everything was already planned. He wasn't even a part of the decision.
His father placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Let's go."
Vyre stared at the airport doors like they were the gates to another world. He didn't want a new world. He wanted his world—his home, his garden, the swing set at the park, his mother's voice calling him in for dinner, and Seth's hand brushing against his as they walked home from school.
He didn't even get to say goodbye.
---
Meanwhile, Seth waited.
He stood outside their usual spot behind the canteen the next morning, holding a small paper box in his hand. Inside were the cookies he'd asked his mom to bake—Vyre's favorite. He was going to surprise him during lunch.
But Vyre never came.
By afternoon, Seth checked the front gates. Still no Vyre. He asked their classmates. "Has anyone seen him today?"
One shrugged. "Maybe he's sick."
Another added, "I think his dad picked him up yesterday. Maybe they're on a trip or something?"
Seth smiled nervously. "Yeah… maybe."
But even as he said it, something in his chest felt strange. Like a string had been pulled too tight and then suddenly snapped.
He waited the next day. And the day after. Still no Vyre.
A week passed. Then two.
And still—nothing.
---
Vyre sat on the windowsill of a small apartment in a city he didn't know, surrounded by buildings that touched the sky and people who didn't speak his language. Everything felt too clean, too fast, too cold. At night, he couldn't sleep. His mind played reruns of the last few days—of the grass under his back, of Seth's hand in his, of their pinky promises whispered under the sun.
He wanted to go home.
Not to a place, but to a person.
He found a notebook in his backpack—one he used for doodles during class. In the corner of a page was a tiny, messy drawing of two stick figures under a tree. One had spiky hair. The other had glasses.
He stared at it until his vision blurred.
Then he wrote.
> Dear Seth,
I didn't know. I swear I didn't know. My dad tricked me. I thought I'd be home by dinner. I didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't even get to tell you how much I... I'm sorry.
Do you remember the promise we made? I still do. Every day. Please don't forget me.
- Vyre
But there was no address to send it to. No envelope. Just words on a page that no one would ever read but him.
---
Seth sat alone under the tree at the park where they always met. The cookies had long since gone stale. The box was crushed from being carried around too long. Still, he held it, as if letting go would make everything final.
And maybe it already was.
He didn't know where
Vyre went.
He didn't know why.
All he knew was the silence that followed.
And the empty space where his best friend used to be.