Cubis and Cutis had always shared a special bond—a friendship built on joyful mornings, playful afternoons, and long evenings filled with laughter. They weren’t just friends; they were like siblings, inseparable from the moment they met. Every day, they explored fields, shared snacks, and whispered secrets under the old oak tree. But today was different. Today, Cubis had to leave.
The sun was barely rising when Cubis arrived at Cutis’s home. A gloomy silence filled the air, so unlike their usual cheerful greetings. Cutis stood by the doorway, eyes already heavy with unshed tears. They both knew this moment was coming, yet nothing had prepared them for the ache in their hearts.
“Do you really have to go?” Cutis asked softly, voice trembling.
Cubis nodded, struggling to speak. His family was moving far away, and no matter how much he wished to stay, it was beyond his control. He stepped forward and gently held Cutis’s hand. Memories flooded their minds—fishing by the river, dancing in the rain, building forts out of blankets. Every laugh, every adventure, now felt like a treasure they feared losing.
“I’ll never forget you,”Cubis whispered, tears welling up. “You’re my best friend. Forever.”
Cutis couldn’t hold back anymore. Tears streamed down her face as she hugged him tightly, afraid to let go. Cubis, too, began to cry—quietly at first, then deeply, from his very heart. It was not just a goodbye to a place, but to the soul who made it home.
As Cubis walked toward the car, he turned back one last time. Cutis stood with trembling lips, waving through her tears. Their eyes met—full of sorrow but also of love and promise.
“I’ll come back,” Cubis called out. “Wait for me.”
Cutis placed her hand over her heart and nodded. Though distance would separate them, their bond would not break. Some friendships are not bound by miles, but by memories.
As the car drove away, Cubis cried, but within those tears was hope. One day, he believed, they would laugh together again. Their goodbye was painful, but their promise was forever.
