When the Lake Stilled

After almost two decades, I stood face to face with the girl who had once been the storm in my sky—wild, rebellious, fiercely alive. The girl who competed with me with every ounce of her will. The kind who spoke her mind with the recklessness of fire and grace unique to her.

We were more friends than just cousins. Our childhood was full of endless higgles, countless banters and shared memories. My flaws were her favorite punchlines, and yet, somehow, in mocking me, she always made me feel seen. We had grown up like two wildflowers in the same patch of soil—rooted in chaos, yet blooming together. Chasing dreams with scraped knees and tangled hair, arguing over matching dresses, stolen pencils and secret crushes. We laughed till our stomachs hurt at jokes no one else would understand.

She was always there—an unsaid constant in the flickering pages of my life. She was a constant companion, a silent observer, a hidden competitor. Our childhood echoed with unfiltered laughter, relentless teasing, and moments so ordinary they somehow became unforgettable.

I still remember sneaking into her school from the back gate during vacations, the thrill of playing hopscotch in the empty corridors, pretending to be teachers, and shouting made-up roll calls. We’d steal chalk pieces and scribble our names on classroom walls, believing we were immortalizing ourselves in history. Our laughter echoed down those hallways like music the bricks still remembered.

We had our favourite lane—one that curved around the local temple and ended at a tiny tuck shop run by an old man who always pretended to be grumpy. Every walk was a journey of stories. Every moment was dipped in mischief. But we always found a way to laugh—even in our punishments.

The Eyes That Knew My Rhythm

She watched every step I took with a quiet attentiveness—so closely, in fact, that my habits became her material, my stumbles her stage. But beneath all this was something tender, almost reverent, as if pointing them out was her way of saying, ‘I see all of you—and I’m staying.’

She’d copy my choices with a playful defiance, as though declaring, ‘Anything you can do, I can mirror.’ At first, it felt like rivalry—but over time, I realized it was her way of walking beside me with an unspoken admiration, as if she saw something in me I hadn't yet seen in myself. And while she never said it out loud, her quiet shadowing stirred something fierce in me. It made me want to dream bigger, push harder—as if her presence alone dared me to rise, not in competition, but in silent solidarity. “It was never about being better than anyone. It was about becoming someone worthy of being followed."

A kind of companionship that words often fail to uphold, but always there to inspire.

And Then, Time Happened…

The currents of life carried us to different shores. Responsibilities crept in, phone calls turned into unread messages, and the world grew louder. We both held on to the same love, but the silence between us grew longer, heavier and endless.

Yet when I saw her again—just a few feet away—something in me skipped a beat. Her salwar suit fluttered like old pages in the wind, her silver danglers danced with each step, and her payal whispered a song I hadn’t heard in years. She wore the poise of a woman who had walked through storms and come out radiant. The once-rebellious girl now wore the traditional look, complete with a bindi, mangalsutra and a quiet elegance. There was a strange, inexplicable beauty in her now—she looked fuller, like a river that had finally found its path. She looked complete.

And when she smiled… oh, that same crooked smile from our childhood days, the one that always made me laugh before I even knew why—I felt everything melt. It was like walking into a forgotten room of your own home and finding it just the way you left it. A still lake—calm, serene, reflective—waiting patiently for you to return, and then erupt into a volcano of laughter.

We hugged, and in that embrace, the years collapsed.

Within minutes, we were back to who we had always been—giggling over her old habit of teasing each other’s fashion disasters from the past, laughing so loud that a little boy across the café turned to stare. We didn’t care. We were reliving. Healing, perhaps…

As we spoke, I noticed that the sparkle in her eyes hadn't dimmed—it had only become wiser. More anchored. The fire was still there, just tempered by time and the quiet dignity of experience.

Some people never leave your heart. They just wait—for the moment when life slows down enough for you to notice their presence again, for silence to settle. And when it does, they pick up right where you left off—no explanations, no apologies, just the comfort of belonging. They return with a laugh, a hug, a knowing look that says, “You were always worth the wait.”

Meeting her again wasn’t just catching up—it was like finding a favorite book in a forgotten box, flipping through the pages, and realizing it still makes you laugh, cry, and feel understood…

When the Lake Stilled...