Teenage Feelings

The farewell had been announced by the school secretary a week ago, and since then, it was all anyone could talk about. Anim and her friends were beyond excited. They had already planned everything—bringing their phones, capturing memories, and making this day unforgettable.

But for Anim, the excitement was overshadowed by disappointment. Her parents had refused to let her bring a camera. "You're in ninth grade, Anim. You should be focusing on your studies, not wasting time on silly pictures," her father had scolded. Her mother had only nodded in agreement, reinforcing the decision with a quiet but firm, "We know what's best for you."

That night, Anim lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, her heart heavy. Why did it always have to be this way? Why did her parents never understand that some memories deserved to be captured? This farewell wasn't just any event; it was a goodbye to the place where she had laughed, cried, and grown up. Her friends would have albums full of moments to look back on, while she would only have fading memories in her mind.

The next morning at school, everyone was buzzing with energy. Her best friend, Ayera, had her phone and camera ready. "Anim, don't worry," Ayera said, noticing her quiet face. "We'll click extra pictures for you. You'll have all the memories you want."

Anim tried to smile, but a lump formed in her throat. "Thanks, Ayera. But it's not the same."

As the event began, the seniors shared their speeches, some filled with humor, others with teary goodbyes. The air was thick with emotions—nostalgia, joy, and the bittersweet feeling of letting go. When it was time for pictures, Anim felt a deep pang of longing. She stood aside, watching her friends pose, laugh, and freeze their happiness in frames she could never hold.

Then, something unexpected happened. Ayera walked up to her, her phone in hand. "Come here," she said softly.

"What?" Anim frowned.

"Stand with me. Let's take a picture together."

"But—" she hesitated.

"No buts," Ayera insisted. "This moment matters. And I'll make sure you have it."

As the camera clicked, capturing a moment filled with warmth and understanding, Anim felt a tear escape down her cheek. Maybe she didn't need a camera of her own. Maybe what truly mattered were the people who made sure she wasn't left out. And in that moment, she knew—this farewell would stay in her heart forever, with or without a photograph