In Continuation to Our Nostalgic Reflections…

For the friends who became home, and the years that shaped our hearts

As we find ourselves in our mid-forties, life feels quieter — not empty, but filled with a gentle awareness that comes from seeing too much, feeling too deeply, and learning what truly matters.
We’ve travelled far from those carefree days, yet sometimes, in the stillness of an evening, a memory drifts in — and for a fleeting moment, we are children again.

Our parents, once the centre of our world, have aged before our eyes.
The same hands that guided us now tremble slightly; the voices that called us home sound softer.
Some of us see them every day, noticing their slow shuffle; some hear them only through memories; and some live with the silence their absence leaves behind.

It’s a tender ache — one that makes us pause.
And in that pause, our hearts travel back to where it all began — to the people who made our growing-up years unforgettable.

We were more than just childhood friends.
We were the companions who walked beside each other through scraped knees, shared lunches, last-bench laughter, and borrowed pencils.
We were an extended family — the family we didn’t choose, but were gifted with.
We grew up in each other’s homes — borrowing books, eating our favourite meals (every home was ours, every mother was ours), and sometimes even getting scolded by each other’s parents.
There was no difference between “your house” and “mine.”
Every door was open, every mother was our mother, every father had a word of advice for us.
Our homes were one big circle of comfort; our parents, interchangeable; our hearts — fearless and open.

Today, life looks different.
We are spread across cities and countries, leading our own lives, caught in our own storms.
We have phones full of contacts, yet fewer voices we truly lean on.
Technology has brought us closer — WhatsApp, the modern telegram, keeps us just a ping away,
and social media lets us peek into each other’s lives from afar.
But the warmth of those unspoken moments — the touch on the shoulder, the laughter echoing down the street, the comfort of someone who just understood — that’s something no app can ever replace.

Sometimes I feel an urge so strong — to gather them all again.
To plan a trip, once a year maybe.
To sit together, barefoot on the sands of memory, talking about everything and nothing,
sharing stories, tears, and laughter that time couldn’t steal.
To tell them that their pain isn’t theirs alone — it’s mine too.
When they lost a parent, a part of my childhood left too.
Their heartbreaks ache within me, because what was once theirs was always ours.

And maybe, when we meet, we’ll hold hands like before — not because we need to,
but because that’s what love feels like after all these years — quiet, wordless, and deeply understood.

Friendship like ours doesn’t fade.
It simply changes form — waiting, watching, remembering.
And when life feels too heavy, all it takes is one familiar voice, one shared memory, to remind us that time has not taken everything.

The truth is — we never really moved on.
We just grew up, carrying each other in different ways.
And someday, when we sit together again, it will feel as though the years folded back softly —
and nothing, absolutely nothing, ever changed.

Some bonds don’t belong to time — they belong to the heart,
and that’s where they will live forever, whispering our laughter into every quiet corner of our lives,
long after we have left.