It was a regular day at the D.Y.Patil Pimpri hostel, or so I thought. I was coming down the stairs, probably in my oversized tee and partially broken trademark chappals, when this girl, walking up the steps like she already owned the place, asked what I was studying.

“Comp,” I replied. 
And in that split second, with all the conviction in the world, she heard “B.Com.”
She blinked and thought in her head, “This girl really came all the way here from Jamshedpur for B.Com?!”
I got to know this much later, of course.

That was Nidhi. No filters. Just thoughts, mouth, boom.

And just like that, between a misunderstood degree and an instant vibe, a friendship began. One that would quickly slip into the deepest corners of my heart and stay there for 25 years, and more!

We were from different branches, I was in Computers, she was in Electronics. But our real syllabus unfolded in the hostel rooms and, most memorably, at our sacred ‘senti point’ — a spot known to no one else but us, where we would sit for hours at night. Laughing. Venting. Dreaming. Crying. Saying things out loud we didn’t know we carried inside us.

We were loud, like really loud, especially our laughter. Unapologetically SRK-crazy. Our plates were always too full (with food and feelings). We agreed on everything. Yet, we were different too. She was the straight-talker, the one who wouldn’t tolerate nonsense. I was the emotional sponge, absorbing chaos until it started weighing me down. It took me two full decades and several emotional gym sessions to learn what Nidhi had naturally – the art of drawing the line and saying, “Nope, not okay. Back off.” At least, a lot better than I ever could.

And oh, the gossip! If gossip were a sport, we would have medals. From hostel drama to college idiosyncrasies, from first jobs to marriage stories, and now school stories of our kids, we have dissected it all like experts. We could talk about everything and absolutely nothing, and somehow still feel full.

Of course, life happened. She moved continents. Time zones clashed. Work, family, everything in between. There were stretches of weeks, even months, where that long overdue call didn’t happen. But when it did, it was like nothing had changed. No awkward pauses. No explanations needed. Just the comfort of knowing that real friendships don’t expire, they just patiently wait.

Soon she became Nidhi Maasi to my daughter, and without even meeting her, my daughter knew how important she is to me. Nidhi has been there for every high, every low, every in-between. One of my loudest cheerleaders in my professional journey, always telling me, “I am so proud of you”, reminding me that she is there with me in spirit always. There are so many memories layered between us that even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough to unpack them all.

We made plans, big ones. Of future travels, celebrations, reunions. Milestones we would toast to, loud and proud. But life, with its twisted sense of humour, forgot to consult our itinerary. There were years we didn’t meet, but never a moment when I didn’t feel she was around. That’s the thing with friendships like ours. Time and distance may stretch it, but never break it.

And then recently… life hit harder than ever.

Nidhi, my brave, bold, fierce bestie, got diagnosed with fast-growing leukemia.

Even typing that feels surreal. The word cancer doesn’t suit her. It both breaks my heart and swells it with pride to see her face this monster with sass and resilience. And yet, here I am, knowing, not hoping, that she’ll beat it. Because Nidhi has always been the one who finishes what she starts. She has the grit of a warrior and the heart of a poet (I know she might cringe at this line but I do feel that is ‘she’ in a nutshell).

She also has me. And all those years of friendship, laughs, tears, talks that are not just memories. They are battle armour now.

Some day, we’ll sit again, maybe not at that old senti point, but maybe somewhere better. We’ll raise a toast to our silver jubilee, and cry-laugh about how life tried to mess with us, and how we messed right back with life.

Till then, Nids, know this…
You are not alone.
You never were.
And this friendship is not just a chapter of my life. It’s the whole damn book.

I love you. Always have.
And hey, next time, just hear me right, okay? I’m not doing B.Com. Never was. 😉