A Few Things
I Never Say Out Loud

I keep meaning to tell you this in person, and then the moment passes, and I stay quiet, and you never know how loud it was in my head. So I'm writing it down instead, where it can't slip away this time.

You have this way of making ordinary days feel worth keeping. A message in the middle of a busy afternoon, the sound of your voice when you're half-asleep, the way you remember the small things I mention only once — none of it is small to me.

I don't think I say thank you enough. Thank you for staying, for being patient on the days I'm difficult to love, for choosing me again on the days that were harder than the rest.

I'm not always good with words when you're standing in front of me. My hands get clumsy and my sentences get shorter. But here, with no one watching, I can say it properly: you are the softest, safest thing that has happened to me.

So this is a small page, made just for you — a flower that only blooms once, petals that only fall for you, a letter that says the quiet parts out loud. I hope it made you smile, even a little.

If Subha is reading this — this part was tucked in here just for you.

I don't say this enough: you have one of the most beautiful voices I've ever heard, and I still think about the songs you used to sing. That kind of talent is rare — please don't ever stop using it.

I kept my distance for a reason that had nothing to do with how much I valued you. You're one of the best students I know, and I didn't want anything, not even a friendship as good as ours, getting in the way of everything ahead of you.

Wherever your future takes you, I hope it's everything you've worked for. Thank you for the music, and for being exactly who you are.