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This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Ashoka chapter.

Edited By: Kavya Gupta

Dear Tanya,


Stop it. It hurts. You’re searing wounds onto my skin. The black ball-point you’re holding is stabbing me like the sharpest knife known to man. Your words are like arrows:

“My heart’s shattered into a million fragments, 

Spread out over his palm.

Eyes glistening with pride,

My melancholy in his hands,

Like a trophy; clutched.”

I feel a chilling sensation as a teardrop, heavy with sorrow, escapes your eyes. It merges my being with yours. What happened? Who hurt you? I wish I could hold and caress your hand. My arms ache to hug you; confined by the pages of my existence. I want to mourn with you. To share the heavy burden of unspoken heartbreak. No one deserves the salt streams pouring down your cheeks. I wish I could pull the sadness out of you, and replace it with your toothy grin. It can light up the whole world. Please smile, Tanya. Please. 

Dear Tanya,


I revel in your touch today. Soft caresses that smoothen the creases of my page. You’re decorating me with swooping, slanting, cursive letters and showering me with glitter:

“Girls like you deserve the warmth of the sun.

A love that feels like life has just begun.”

I hear your giggle – the sweetest that a sound can ever be. Why can’t you stay like this forever? You hum to Taylor Swift and dance your heart out. Floating among the clouds, you feel infinite. 

Dear Tanya,


I am deeply concerned by the shift in your words as they tremble onto my pages. The hesitation of your pen and the ink drops of anticipation stain my parchment heart. As you write about the sleepless nights, racing heartbeats, and endless what-ifs that plague your mind, I feel helpless. 

“It comes and goes in waves,

Healing is overrated.

Falling back into old habits,

I think I find comfort in my own sadness.” 

Incapable of reaching out, I find it difficult to witness your anxiety. I long to whisper words of encouragement in those quiet moments of loneliness. I wish to cradle your wavering heart within my pages and protect it from the cruelty of the world. 

Dear Tanya,


It’s been a while. You’re 22 today. Look how far you’ve come. Your hair’s shorter now. It’s cute. You must have made so many new friends and memories. Your writing seems to have changed as well. It’s more measured and refined; a reflection of how you’ve matured. The pages that were once filled with prom dresses and messy, summer adventures now hold the hopes and ambitions of a future that stretches beyond your teenage years. 

“They say time will heal. But will it?

Can time really stop the growing pains?”

I love how I am still your comfort place. Your safety net. I just wish I could write back to you or you could hear me instead. When you talk about your body that way, I wish I could tell you that you’re beautiful. You don’t have to change anything about yourself. You’re exactly the girlboss that 10-year-old Tanya dreamt of being. She would be so proud of you, like I am. I hope one day you see yourself the way I do. 

Dear Tanya,


I lie in the corner of a dusty attic, amidst old trinkets and forgotten memories. A little torn here and there, but still alive and breathing. Time, relentless and unforgiving, moved forward. Now that I’ve been opened again, I strain to look at the person standing before me. She seems familiar, yet so different. The same kind eyes. The same sweet smile. But so… tiny? When I hear your voice from afar, it hits me. And I am at a loss for words. She leafs through my pages and feels a strong connection to your past. Little you grabs a pencil and in her wobbly handwriting, begins to tell her story: 

“Dear Diary, 

Today, I met a boy.”

Your tales of teenage love, the rush of first kisses, and the giddy excitement of friendships are now precedents for her own. The ink flowed and new stories began to take shape. I love her already. I promise you, she’ll never feel alone. 

Tanya Gupta

Ashoka '27

Tanya is a content writer for HerCampus Ashoka. She is a freshman and aims to pursue Psychology as a major. You can usually find her in a corner with a book in hand, engrossed in the life of a messy protagonist or writing poetry as a means of catharsis. She is a Swiftie at heart and also loves listening to Arctic Monkeys, The Driver Era, and Gracie Abrams. She is also very into horror movies and true crime (viewing not committing).