I don’t even know where to begin. I’ve wanted to write this for months, but somehow every time I tried, the words felt too heavy or too fragile. I keep replaying that evening at the Brigade road when we sat across from each other, laughing about nothing in particular. I wanted to tell you then how much I admired the way you noticed the small things, the way you remember people’s birthdays, the way you stop to help anyone struggling on the street, the way you smile even when everything seems chaotic. I always thought that no one else would notice these things, but you did, and it made me quietly admire you more than I ever told anyone. I wish I had the courage to tell you I liked you, really liked you, beyond friendship. But I didn’t. And now, every time I see you laughing with someone else or talking about things I don’t know, I feel this strange mix of joy and sadness. I’m happy you’re happy, but I also ache quietly for what could have been. I think about all the little moments we shared, walking past Cubbon Park, getting dosas at VV Puram late at night, the endless chai breaks while we argued over the silliest things and I realize how much I’ve held back from you. Maybe one day I’ll say this out loud. Maybe not. For now, this letter is enough, my heart spilling quietly, safely, onto this page, hoping somehow it reaches you even if it never leaves my hands. I want you to know that you are remembered, cherished, and admired, even in silence, even in distance, and even when I cannot say these words directly to you.