There are some people who walk into your life with the subtlety of a whisper and still manage to rearrange the whole room. Navya is like that. She didn’t crash through my door or announce herself with some dramatic violin soundtrack. She arrived in the tiniest ways. She arrived in the form of a simple “Nia are you awake” at some emotionally irresponsible hour. She arrived in the form of parcel pick ups, last minute favours, those chaotic runs to Baba, the way she says “bbg” like she’s awarding me a government title. She arrived with her entries into my WhatsApp like soft punches to the chest. No fireworks, no glitter, just something small that felt like it clicked a dislocated part of my soul back into place.
The truth is that before her, I had a very academic understanding of friendship. Observational. Theoretical. Mostly sourced from Pinterest quotes and the occasional self help reel. I had the track record too. Betrayals disguised as closeness. People who took more than they ever intended to give. Friendships that felt like group projects where I always got stuck doing the main work. You know the vibe. I was tired. I was unimpressed. I was convinced I would live my adulthood like a cat lounging in sunbeams without needing too many people.
So when she entered gently, it surprised me. I didn’t trust it. I didn’t trust easy warmth. I didn’t trust people who said they cared. I didn’t trust the concept of “people who just become friends”, because they often came with friendship trauma sourced from season one of every Netflix show ever.
But then slowly she kept showing up. Not in the loud ways. In the everyday microwaves. The tiny hums of comfort. The “yes I’m coming”. The “okie”. The “tell me what you need”. The “come with me”. The “can I borrow”. The “do you want help”. The “have you eaten”. The “Niaaaa where are you”. The laughter that cracked open a window in a room I didn’t realise was suffocating me.
And somewhere between her late night confessions and her midday chaos and her careful listening and her unfiltered madness, I realised I wasn’t just building a friendship with her. I was healing a part of myself I didn’t know was bruised. Friendship stopped being a theory I performed. It started being a feeling I recognised.
And that is where this story begins. Two girls. Two hearts slightly dented. One friendship that feels like the softest revolution, the funniest crisis, the warmest chaos. The kind of thing that makes you think “Oh. So this is what it is supposed to feel like.”
How she arrived in my life like a plot twist I didn’t consent to but now can’t live without.
Friendship is funny because it never announces itself. It just barges in like “Oh hello, I see you are functioning on 4 spoons of energy and a questionable coping mechanism, let’s fix that.” With Navya everything started so quietly. A simple “Hey bbg I need an outpass.” A “Niaaaaa” at midnight. An “Are you awake.” A “You didn’t have to do that but thank you.” A sticker that conveyed seventeen emotions at once.
You know how they say real friends become family. I used to roll my eyes at that. Family sounded too serious, too permanent, too filmy. But she somehow managed to be family without ever forcing the sentiment. She became my emergency contact for emotional stupidity. She became the person I ask for help even when I pretend I can handle everything. She became the one I text when the chaos gets too loud. She became my soft landing and my co-conductor of nonsense.
And she did it all unintentionally. She didn’t audition for the role of best friend. She just lived. She just cared. She just showed up. And sometimes showing up is all it takes for two galaxies to orbit each other.
The thing about her is that she is dramatic in the exact ways that matter. She loves with her whole chest even when her chest is doing dhak dhak from heartbreak. She overthinks like it is an Olympic sport but she does it with dignity and snacks. She is soft in a way that doesn’t make her weak. She is kind in a way that doesn’t make her naive. She is loyal in a world that keeps trying to make us transactional. She gives parts of herself without needing applause.
And the plot twist is that I started matching her. Her softness made me softer. Her resilience made me braver. Her trust made me trust again. Her stability made me stop choosing people who only wanted convenience. She walked into my life holding a mirror and for the first time the reflection didn’t look exhausted. It looked held. Valued. Seen.
Everything became easier with her around. Design deadlines. Event madness. Heartbreak therapy sessions. Existential crises about men who hunt for attention rather than big animals like their ancestors. Even the stupidest campus runs felt cinematic just because she was in the frame.
She became the plot twist I would choose again. Even if it means handling her questionable panics. Even if it means receiving n-number of voice notes because her Google Meet glitched. Even if it means hearing her trauma dump at 2am and then say “Good night” like she didn’t just drop a nuclear bomb.
Because at the end of the day it wasn’t convenience. It was consistency. It wasn’t drama. It was comfort. It wasn’t noise. It was home.
What she taught me about love without even trying.
Love is not loud. Love is not performative. Love is not people screaming loyalty in Instagram captions while ghosting you in real life. Love is not friendship bracelets and big declarations and “Oh my god we are such a duo babe” while rolling eyes behind your back.
Love is something much smaller. Something quieter. Something everyday.
She taught me that love is checking on someone even when you are breaking. Love is asking “Have you eaten?” even when you haven’t eaten either. Love is saying “I’ll help you” without calculating what you get in return. Love is making fun of each other but never hurting where it scars. Love is being honest with the softness of someone who knows truth doesn’t have to be cruel. Love is choosing someone on the days when choosing anyone feels heavy.
She taught me that real friendships are not convenient. They are chosen. Again and again. In the tiredness. In the chaos. In the tiny stupid moments that look like nothing but feel like everything.
She showed me that friendships can be healing. I used to think healing was a solo project. Like those self improvement montages where the girl meditates and drinks green juice and journals gratitude like she is paid for it. But healing can be communal. Healing can be two girls laughing at men who deserve jail. Healing can be crying in front of someone without rehearsing the script. Healing can be being loved in a way that doesn’t make you shrink.
And she did it without meaning to. Without trying to be a saviour. Without performing kindness for applause. She just existed in my life with a gentleness that slowly filled the gaps of things I thought I had lost.
She taught me that I am not hard to care for. She taught me that I don’t have to be the strong one all the time. She taught me that I can be silly and dramatic and stupidly emotional and still be loved. She taught me that there are people who look at your cracks and don’t flinch.
She taught me what love feels like when it is safe. And I didn’t know I needed that lesson until she gave it to me.
Oh, so this is what friendship is supposed to feel like.
I didn’t write this because she asked. I didn’t write this because I’m the President and she is the Creative Director and it looks cute for the brand. I wrote this because she is the closest thing to truth I have ever experienced. Also, it’s her birthday!!! Because she is proof that real friendships exist outside Pinterest aesthetics. Because she made the idea of connection feel less like a risk and more like a blessing.
She is the girl who taught me that friendship is not measured in how loudly someone declares their care. It is measured in the softness between two people who choose honesty over fear. Connection over convenience. Laughter over pride. Healing over silence. It is measured in the small gestures: the ones you barely notice until you look back and realise those were the moments that saved you.
And maybe the world doesn’t reward friendships as loudly as it rewards romance. Maybe no one writes movies about two girls sharing stickers and trauma bonding over “men” and showing up to GHS like it is a pilgrimage. Maybe no one throws confetti for the friendships that reshape entire emotional landscapes.
But I will. I will write it. I will honour it. I will give it the pages it deserves.
Because loving her has been one of the easiest things my heart has ever done. Because her presence feels like being let back into the light after standing outside too long. Because she has shown me what friendship feels like when it is chosen, not performed. Lived, not posted. Real, not rehearsed.
And every time she texts “Niaaaaa where are you” or sends a sticker that expresses twenty-seven feelings or asks “Are you awake” at ungodly hours, I realise something with a kind of bittersweet joy.
This.
This ridiculous, chaotic, wholesome, stupidly tender thing we have.
This is what friendship is supposed to feel like.
To read the articles we write together, visit Navya Nitash at HCMUJ. <3