The last two days felt ordinary.

And yet, maybe they weren’t.

I stepped out after a really long time to meet a friend who lives outside the rhythm of my everyday life.

I’ve realized something about myself over the years: I’m not a great friend in the traditional sense. I don’t initiate much. In my head, I’m always worried I might be disturbing someone — that they’re busy, that I’ll be an interruption, that reaching out might end in quiet rejection.

So I don’t.
In the last ten years, I’ve probably reached out fewer times than I can count on my fingers.

Somewhere along the way, I started calling this self-respect. Letting people go easily. Not asking for too much. Being flexible, but never needy. I don’t even know when that became my way of being — it just did.

The truth is, I do crave friends.
But I don’t quite know how to give myself fully to anyone. Each person knows a different version of me. One friend gets one side. Another gets another. No one really gets the whole picture.

So when a friend reached out to meet this weekend, I said yes.

I was drowsy in the cab on the way there, half-present, half-tired. But the moment I saw her, my face lit up. She looked genuinely happy to see me — and that made me feel something shift inside. Like I was being welcomed back into something I didn’t realize I had missed.

We spent the evening in our favourite part of the city. Bengaluru felt kind — cold, quiet, almost tender. We talked, walked, sat. Nothing extraordinary happened, and yet everything felt softly right.

On the way back, I was in another cab, my partner on the phone. I listened more than I spoke. I don’t always know how to be fully present in conversations anymore. Sometimes I’m there, but also not quite there. And yet, even then, I felt… okay.

Not elated.
Not healed.
Just steady.

And for someone who usually lives a little guarded, a little distant, that felt like something rare.It felt like a small emotional homecoming.
I just… felt normal.