I have pictures in my head. Like one of those old cartoons with jerky motion and the old-film feel to it. Squiggly little lines flashing across the screen. Mickey and Pluto, a frame at a time, running after each other.

There's me n Shani n Z n Bobby. We're sitting on a stone wall. Wind-flapped school uniforms getting drenched with the spray. Teeny little crab-bodies--red and brown, some black--on the stone-concrete below. Some get washed away by the splashing waves. Others struggle on scrambling into holes and cracks before the wave hits. We sit and watch. It's sadistic, but we throw pebbles just to hurry the little critters along. The scraggly, grey-brown mutt has three and a half legs. There's a collar on him too, biting into the raw skin on the back of his neck.

We should be happy but we're not. We're in love and miserable. Nineteen is just that kinda age. Everyone seems to be in love. But we KNOW we are. Sarah, Fariha, Sana, Aisha. They were supposed to be here with us.

We sit. wind. waves. rocks. sand. A stone wall with crashing water. Spray flies up all around.

Neechay uttartay hain.

We do. It's fun. The drops of water flying around are enough to hide the tears that well up. The wind is too strong. It makes our eyes water.

Kuch khatay hain. Red Apple ka roll khana hai.

We go. We eat. We have a bit of fun. We see Anju. We hide. Schools almost over. One more A'level exam to give. Physics practicals. Then we're all done. Then we'll all split up. All four of us won't be together for another three and a half years. and counting.