The First Threads of Belonging

By Chandan MK

True friends never arrive with thunder —

they enter like a quiet dawn,

lighting up the forgotten rooms of our heart.

They sit beside our silence,

not to question it,

but to understand the language of what we never said.

They touch the corners

where even we hide from ourselves —

the ache, the fear, the little guilts we keep folded deep.

And when they take a share of that hidden sorrow,

its weight softens —

pain breathes again, lighter, almost sacred.

Between them and us,

words become unnecessary.

Their presence itself becomes a prayer —

where loneliness forgets its name,

and love begins to sound like peace.

When I can’t speak to strangers,

I whisper everything to them.

Perhaps God decides who arrives —

not all are family,

but some souls are home.

They saw my cracks and still stayed,

when I wasn’t the best version of me.

Their kindness stitched my falling pieces.

Rajat — April-born, my quiet classmate from eleventh Bio.

An ambivert with a calm heart.

I once feared he’d never accept me

if he knew my truth —

but that evening in Delhi,

under GTB Nagar’s soft lights,

he did.

He made me laugh when silence hurt,

guided my younger brother like his own.

I missed his wedding,

but I still wish him every happiness.

Rangoli — July-born, colorful like her name.

In college, we barely spoke,

but after, her friendship arrived

like rain after drought.

Midnight birthday wishes, endless motivation —

she never judged, only understood.

Ajay — my MBA friend, a junior by batch

but elder in compassion.

We became roommates in Vaishali Nagar’s PG —

he was calm when I was tangled in thoughts.

He turned heavy moments light.

After college, life scattered us,

but it brought me to his hometown,

when he got married —

and I was there, witnessing his joy.

Ankita — a colleague who became my sister.

Caring, honest, calm —

August-born strength wrapped in silence.

Ahmedabad, Gurugram, Vadodara —

our journeys overlapped like chapters.

Every Rakshabandhan,

her Rakhi found my wrist.

She’s self-reliant,

a girl who nurtures dreams and family both.

Sugandha — brave, upfront,

yet tender inside.

In 2018, when I was hospitalised sixteen days,

she visited home with my manager,

met my family, became one of them.

Since then, she’s been a call away —

we don’t talk often,

but the bond knows its way back.

Manish — younger, cheerful, Udaipur’s November-born smile.

He entered my life as I recovered from illness,

and helped me believe in laughter again.

Through Covid’s silent months,

he stayed — still does.

Alpita — fearless traveller, tall like her courage.

Knows Excel as well as she knows emotions.

When I was ready to end my life,

she handed me Banaras instead.

For months, she listened to my darkness,

night after night —

until words became light again.

Kuch dard bolne se halke ho jaate hain.

If I live today,

she’s one quiet reason why.

Kapil — simple, grounded, humble.

Office gupshup partner, silent helper.

We lost touch,

but every time taxes or troubles appear,

he’s there —

never making anyone feel smaller.

Meenakshi — work turned devotion.

A Radha-Krishna bhakt, calm and self-reliant.

She balances strength and simplicity

with divine grace.

Munesh — the boy from the mess,

who served more than food.

After surgery, when I could barely care for myself,

he made sure I never missed a meal.

Fresh chapatis, warm sabzi,

care folded in every plate.

Even in Covid,

his tiffin carried the taste of kindness.

Tanya — joined just after me,

left just before.

Our roots touched in Ballia,

our friendship bloomed beyond it.

She corrects me when I falter,

supports me when I fall.

Some bonds are written,

even before meeting.

Pooja — young, emotional, pure-hearted.

The one who shared fruits and laughter in office corridors.

Naïve but genuine —

and her love story ended exactly where love should:

in marriage.

She believed in me and my truth, when I couldn’t.

Navneet — Ramleela Ground’s unexpected friend.

When I was sinking,

he became the voice of calm.

Taught me acceptance,

to leave some things ununderstood —

and trust time.

He distracted my pain into peace.

Revant — from the ghats of Banaras.

I met him when I was breaking,

sitting silent by the Ganga.

He brought conversation, chaat,

a boat ride, and laughter.

And that night’s Aarti —

washed away my despair.

Maybe Baba sent him —

a stranger turned blessing.

These are not just friends —

they’re prayer beads in my journey,

each one glowing softly

in my memory’s twilight.

If life is a long evening,

they are the lamps that never went out.

By Chandan MK