The last thing Priya and Tom did together was eat chips on the wall outside his house.
His flight was at seven the next morning. His family was moving to Canada for his father's job.
They had been best friends for six years. Since reception. Through chickenpox (Tom gave it to Priya), through changing schools (they went to different ones and remained best friends anyway), through everything.
"This is stupid," said Tom.
"Yes," said Priya.
They ate the rest of the chips in silence.
The first month was awful. Time zones were a problem. Schedules were a problem. The distance made small talk feel pointless — they had too little time to waste on how their day had been.
So they stopped making small talk.
When they talked, they talked about real things. Stuff that actually mattered. Tom was finding it hard to make friends. Priya had taken up running. Tom had become oddly interested in geology. Priya was reading her way through the school library.
The conversations were less frequent. But they were more honest than most of their conversations had been when they saw each other every day.
A year in, Tom said: "I think I know you better now than I did before."
Priya thought about this. "I think that's because we have to choose to," she said. "It's not automatic anymore."
"Is that better or worse?"
She thought again. "Both," she said. "Definitely both."