As I start writing this, I’m sitting in a ghost town. This is our study centre. It wasn’t always like this. It used to be much noisier.

I walk into the classroom, taking care to leave my footwear behind. I have this sudden urge to arrange the name cards of everyone on their most frequent seats. Ingrid steps in to help. A few minutes and we’re done. Nothing says it’s the end like as an empty classroom. The notes from the last lecture are still there on the board, but the empty seats don’t tell you how fun it was playing the wolf or the giraffe.

I look around. Everything seems to be made up of memories.

You see that field there. I can see the gang playing Ultimate Ninja. I can see the concentration on their faces. And just beyond that is where we played cricket. Remember Nikolai took a hat trick, and that Ida hit a six? We almost won!

And the hammock? I remember waking up on it one lazy afternoon with Sebastian and Brigitte sitting me me! The hammock next to it had broken off, too many times, with too many people. (It’s not you, it’s the hammock!)

I remember a walk around a temple. It was said to be 11 kms. I could swear it was about 25 kms. An hour later than the last group, tired and haggled, but we made it back. I remember someone suggested that the buses should leave behind the ones who hadn’t arrived yet. (Ahem!)

I remember secret birthdays and a henna tattoo on my wrist that said, “Lykke”. (“This is what I wish for you,” I was told.)

I remember a trip to Kochi and another to Bangalore, made up of people I learnt to love. I could write about boat rides and literary roulette in a bookshop, tiger safaris, or midnight birthday fireworks, but those memories deserve a more special place than a paragraph here.

And a baby bat we rescued. Ingvar, named after its rescuer. And how happy we were that Invar’s mother came to take him back.

I remember the late nights on the rooftop. Everyone had a story – “This one time…”. We’d look at the clock and wonder where the time disappeared. As we’re doing now. You know it’s late when Hauke says, “I think I’m going to bed.” And slowly the rooftop would clear.

I could tell you about sneaking into an old distillery tower and watching the sunrise over the sea, as the light of the lighthouse slowly faded away. If you ask me, make sure you do these things with only people that you love.

So we’re done with our group paper today. And everyone’s on the rooftop. And we talked, and laughed, and smiled. And then Hauke said, “I think I’m going to bed.” And the next thing you know he’s actually off to the airport. And slowly the rooftop would clear.

And those left behind will remember, and we’ll smile.

In time we would have forgotten the jokes, but we’ll remember that we had laughed, and that’s all that matters.

And this is why you have to let yourself love strangers.

Shakeel