Happy Birthday.

Dear Shreya,

Yes. I'll start exactly there.
Happy Birthday.

Another year around the sun… and again, another year where I sit down thinking okay, keep it short this time, and somehow it never happens. I don't know why birthdays do this to me. Maybe because they aren't just dates. They quietly make you realise how much has changed — and how much is still oddly the same.

Adulthood feels real now, doesn't it?

Not something we talk about like "later", but something we're already inside. Earlier it was homework, exams, buses, classes. Now it's work, companies, responsibilities, decisions, futures. How strange na — once we worried about bags being heavy, now it's life that feels heavy sometimes. But I know this about you: you'll manage. You always have.

As a person, as a friend — I've always known you.

I know there will be many decisions, many calls you'll take alone. I won't always be there for those moments — honestly, I wasn't earlier also, hehe. And that's okay. You never depended on constant presence. Still, before taking any big decision, just pause for a second. Think properly. Analyse everything. Let the noise settle. Then take that call. You've been doing that all along — continue doing it. I trust that part of you completely.

And when I think about "now", my mind automatically goes back.

Do you remember how this bond even started?

From a school bus — same route, same seats, half-sleepy mornings — to classrooms, shared phases, familiar corridors. And now… here we are, standing in the real world, pretending we know what we're doing. If someone had told us back then that this is where life would take us, we'd laugh it off.

As we grow up, sometimes we forget our older versions only.

But that old Ishan? He's still there — standing in the bus, waiting to pull those two ponytails… hahah :)
And honestly, no matter how much time grows, sometimes we should still meet as the same Shreya and Ishan. No roles. No labels. Just familiar people remembering who they were.

This bond was never loud. Never dramatic.
It just… existed. Quietly. Naturally.

And like most quiet things, it didn't break — it stretched.

Life does that. It rearranges closeness. Slowly. So subtly that one day you realise conversations are fewer, pauses are longer, and silence starts carrying meaning. Not bad meaning. Just real meaning.

And I want to say this clearly — without excuses, without justifying:

If there were times you needed me and I wasn't there — I'm sorry.
For the gaps.
For the stretches.
For not thinking enough about how it might feel from your side.

I never really paused to imagine what my absence might sound like to you. If it ever made you feel unsure, unimportant, or confused in any way — I'm sorry for that. Truly. No excuses.

You know me — I fumble. i… I really do. With words, with timing, with expressing things properly. I'm not the friend you can call every night. Not the one who's always available to roam, talk, message, or make impromptu plans. And I know that sometimes, that's not ideal.

Somewhere along the way, I realised something quietly — not everything meaningful has to be extraordinary. Some roles aren't meant to shine; they're meant to exist gently. What mattered was never how I showed up, but that I did — in the way I knew how, at that time.

Life naturally brings people closer to the version of you that exists now. That doesn't erase what existed earlier; it just makes space for what the present needs.

And still — one thing hasn't changed.

I never really go far.
Me javalch aahe. Itech. Kuthe tari.

You'll have people very close to you now — people who will be there immediately for your big wins. Celebrating loudly. Properly. I might not always be the first to hear about your victories, and that's okay.

But when it comes to your downs — the quiet ones, the heavy ones, the moments when life doesn't go as planned — I'll be there. I'll be the first. Without noise. Without judgement. Just present.

When adulthood feels heavy — when things feel confusing, noisy, unsure — when you don't want advice or solutions, just a place to breathe — I'm just a call away. Same listener. Same understanding. Same point where we last paused.

Because in my imaginary café — the one you already know — your seat is always reserved. No matter how long it's been. No matter how busy life gets. That chair doesn't get replaced.

I also wanted to do more this time — a video and all — but time just… slipped. Hopefully next year. I'll try again.

I remember you once said you wanted to spend your birthday alone.

Have it. It's all yours. Do everything you want. Take the silence, the space, the joy. I won't take more of your time now.

And yes… I know.
Again this year, the message got long. I always think I'll reduce it next time, and somehow it never happens. Umm… maybe next year I'll actually manage. Thank you for your patience — and for reading till here.

And with this, I'll take your leave for now.

Until our roads cross again.