The Last Promise Of Exam

Questions were flying off my pen like sparks, each word a final attempt to seal three years of memories in a two-hour exam. My handwriting waged a clumsy battle against the smooth surface of the answer sheet, and my pencil—tired, yet determined—kept barging in, demanding a say in every paragraph.

It was the last exam of college life. The final paper. The final day. Nuclear and Atomic Physics—a subject I loved, and perhaps the only paper I didn't dread. My mind, however, was elsewhere.

The question on "cloud chamber" had me deeply engrossed, trying to imagine those invisible particles leaving their trails inside a misty box. Yet in reality, my own thoughts were moving faster than any alpha particle. They were running wild—through corridors, over hostel rooms, into memories, out through unspoken goodbyes.

I glanced at my watch. It was 4:40 PM. Just twenty more minutes. But my fingers were already twirling my Writo-meter pen, signaling, "I'm done." My phone was at home, but I didn't care. Something heavier than digital notifications was stirring inside me. A strange anticipation, a knot that tugged at me with every passing second.

Yes… today, I was leaving college.

Four seats ahead, my best friend Sushobhan was still writing. He turned back, caught my restless eyes, and gestured, "Five more minutes. Just hold on." I nodded faintly and looked out of the window beside me, the sunlight glancing off the seminar hall balcony of our Physics Department.

That balcony... the one where I first dared to believe in myself. My first heartbreak happened there, too—the one with the girl who had the softest cheeks and the sharpest silences. Her memory still made me blush, but it also reminded me of the betrayals that followed. I remembered what Shreeman Sir once said: "When life rotates in a 360-degree circle, every small point becomes a straight line. Find those lines. Follow them forward."

Maybe today, I was finding one of those lines.

The invigilator snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Oh hello! Don't you want to pass this exam?"

"Sorry, Sir… here." I handed over my paper.

I blinked at Sushobhan, a silent message—All done. He smiled in return.

Out of the examination hall. Out of the syllabus. Out of college life.

Outside, students were already caught in the whirlwind of celebration. Some were planning a beer party, others shouting about job applications, postgraduate dreams, and heartbreaks yet to be forgotten. A few friends dragged me to the canteen for a farewell "Daaru" session. They smeared color on my face, shouted "Holi hai!" and danced in the dust. Chittaranjan emptied a packet of chips on my head and then stuffed another into my hands. I laughed, but my eyes kept scanning the chaos.

I was looking for him.

His scooty wasn't at the stand. He had promised we would leave together, just as we had arrived. But where was he?

"He doesn't drink. Maybe he's just late. Maybe... no, what if something happened? An accident?" Panic trickled in. I dusted off the Holi powder from my hair and walked toward the college gate. The wall clock above the main entrance read 6:30 PM.

Evening had begun its slow descent. Chandi Chhak was swallowed in a haze of heat and dusk. I walked out and made my way to the college pond. The place was quiet—unlike my mind.

Sitting by the water, I tossed a few pebbles into the pond and asked myself, "Why am I even waiting for him? My house isn't far. I can get an auto. Then why?"

The answer came like a whisper in my chest.

"Because it's not about convenience. It's about the bond. It's about Sushobhan."

And just when the realization settled in my bones, a hand tapped my shoulder.

I turned.

It was him.

He smiled and said, "See... I kept our promise."

That was all it took. That simple sentence flooded me with everything we had been through.

There was no audience to clap for us, no cameras to click the moment. Just two boys, bonded not by blood, but by every shared ride, every bunked class, every fear before an exam, every laugh after a heartbreak.

I remembered September 1st, 2014—our first day in this college. I had ridden pillion on his scooty. We fought the admission chaos, chose our honors—he picked Chemistry, I chose Physics. Our subjects diverged, but our souls never did. People called us "Stepney," like the extra wheel of a scooter, always together. Every exam day, he came to pick me up. That tradition was supposed to end today.

And he didn't let it break.

We didn't say much. We didn't have to. The silence on the ride back home said everything. The wind carried our memories like loose pages from a diary.

But that day… that last ride, it still lives inside me.

Because after that, we never met again.

People moved on. Time did what it always does—it passed. I don't blame him for the distance. Life happens. But I do blame myself—for not trying harder. For not being a better friend. For letting life's noise drown out the voice of a bond I should have fought to keep.

And even now, years later, when I walk past the pond or hear someone say cloud chamber, I smile. Because memories of us remain. They don't fade. They rebuild hope, little by little.

But still…

They don't leave footprints.