The Farewell That Continued

Neha’s farewell began at four with cake, continued at four thirty with speeches, and reached its emotional peak when someone from accounts remembered a helpful thing she had done two years earlier.

She had not expected accounts to participate in the feelings. This made the final ten minutes difficult.

Her team gave her flowers, a card, and a framed photograph in which she was the only person looking at the actual camera. Her manager, Devika, said she would be missed. Neha said she would miss everyone. The intern asked whether her replacement had access to the shared folder. This restored an appropriate balance.

At five fifteen, she booked a cab. Several colleagues walked her to the designated pickup area and waved goodbye. She settled into the back seat, fastened her belt, and watched the office disappear.

The chapter, she felt, had closed well.

At the first long signal near Marathahalli, the team bus stopped beside her cab.

Her colleague Amit spotted her immediately. His face appeared at a bus window, followed by several others. They waved enthusiastically. Neha waved back. Somebody held up the farewell card’s matching envelope, which she had left on her desk.

Her phone buzzed. “YOU FORGOT THIS,” Amit wrote.

“Keep it as a memory,” she replied.

They laughed through the glass. The light changed. Both vehicles moved on independently, neither driver attempting to preserve the occasion.

Ten minutes later, the bus appeared beside her again in another queue.

The second wave was smaller but warm. Devika was visible now, holding a water bottle. She raised it in a toast. Neha raised her bouquet. The intern pointed at his laptop through the window.

Neha received another message: “Folder access sorted.”

She sent a thumbs-up. Even from outside the company, she remained involved in operational closure.

Her cab driver, Sadiq, asked whether these were her friends.

“Former colleagues. Today was my last day.”

He glanced at the bus while safely stopped. “They are sending you properly.”

“Very properly.”

By the third encounter, the waving had become slightly administrative. Amit lifted one hand without putting down his snack. Neha responded with two fingers and a smile. The flowers had begun shedding tiny fragments of their commitment to the arrangement.

She messaged the group: “I am definitely leaving. Please continue normal work.”

Devika replied: “You are still visible from the office bus. Exit process incomplete.”

Sadiq laughed when Neha read this aloud. He had once driven a wedding guest whose relatives kept reappearing along the route. He said some goodbyes needed better road conditions.

The fourth meeting occurred beside a petrol station. Nobody waved immediately. They simply looked at each other with the exhausted affection of people who had run out of new farewell expressions. Finally, Amit held up an empty chips packet.

Neha shook her head. Even if it had contained food, there would be no window-to-window exchange. They were adults, mostly, and the road did not need an improvised catering service.

The bus eventually took a different turn. Neha watched it leave and felt the goodbye settle at last. The sadness was gentler now, softened by the absurdity of having practised departure four times.

She would remember the speeches, but probably also Amit’s progressively smaller waves. The company had supplied a formal farewell; the commute had accidentally arranged a much more accurate portrait of the team.

At home, she placed the card on her table and the flowers in water. Her phone held photographs from the party, messages from friends, and one final note from Devika.

“Reached?”

“Yes. Thank you for everything.”

Amit replied beneath it.

“Bus still moving. Any vacancies at your new place?”

Read when you’re a passenger or safely off the road. Never while driving.