It was the second year of my intermediate. A new college, a new classroom, unfamiliar faces, and the awkwardness of being the new girl once again. I remember sitting between two cheerful twin sisters who welcomed me with open arms, but deep inside, I kept wondering—Will I really be able to find someone here who feels like “mine”?
And then came Narjes.
A girl with mischief in her eyes, a bounce in her walk, and a carefree aura that almost demanded attention. She sat right in front of me and barely glanced my way. The twins excitedly introduced us:
“Hey Narjes, see we have a new admission!”
And what did she say?
“So what should I do?”
That. Was. It.
I had already written her off in my head. Rude. Mannerless. Overconfident. I thought—what kind of girl is this?
I believed in first impressions, and hers was definitely not a good one.
But life had other plans.
She was different—yes. A Shia in a class where sadly, some girls and even teachers drew silent boundaries. Her boldness wasn’t taken kindly. She was loud, unfiltered, and unapologetically herself. But because we had mutual friends (the twins, and one more), we interacted anyway. We had no choice but to “bear with” each other.
Somewhere in that “bearing”, our bond began.
Slowly, I saw layers unfold. She wasn’t rude—she was raw. She wasn’t careless—she was carefree. She reminded me of my sister: bold, wild, honest, and fiercely loyal. Her heart was so much softer than her words, and her friendship—genuine. We clicked. We laughed. We stood up for each other. We were the odd duo that somehow made perfect sense.
Soon enough, the entire college noticed.
While some teachers kept warning me to stay away from her, some secretly admired the way we broke stereotypes—of faith, personality, attitude. We were different, but we were together.
Our memories? They’re a whole book.
Like that one time—our first bunk ever—we skipped college not for a movie, but to make a handmade greeting book for our teachers! We landed at a nearby confectionery shop to sit and work, but the grumpy uncle there didn’t let us stay without ordering something. And we had barely any money! So we walked around and finally found our perfect “workspace”: a railway station bench, under the unforgiving sun, crafting handmade cards with sweaty brows and big dreams.
And yes, the teachers loved it.
But Narjes wasn’t done with her wild ideas. She wanted to travel on a local train just because she never had. So, next bunk—we boarded random trains, got down at random stations, and laughed like little rebels with no map.
Our friendship, though full of joy, wasn’t free from judgment. Our English and Economics teachers had some serious issues with how close we were. One often tried to separate us. Once, I missed a class because I lost track of time while sitting on the terrace canteen. Narjes was on leave that day too. The teacher assumed we bunked together. She called me out in front of everyone—
“Oh, so without Narjes, you find the class too boring to attend?”
I was stunned. And honestly, embarrassed. She even threatened to call my parents if I didn’t perform well in the next exam.
And guess what—I did make it to the top 5.
That year with Narjes—just one year—gave me a lifetime of memories. We even pranked my brother once (a story for another blog!) and laughed like there was no tomorrow.
And then, just like that, life pulled us onto different tracks.
I started working while studying through distance education. Narjes continued college. I’d still visit her, sometimes unannounced, sometimes with jealousy seeing her talk to others. Was I being replaced? I’d wonder.
We stayed friends, just… differently.
And here comes the part where I confess—
I missed her wedding.
Yes. Her big day. I forgot the date, confused it with another, and to top it all, I met with an accident too. I was supposed to be there. I wanted to be there. And yet—I wasn’t.
She moved to UAE after that, built a beautiful life, and is now a mother of two lovely kids. Every time she visited India, she made it a point to meet me—whether it was my sister’s wedding or my brother’s. She never missed my big moments.
But me?
I’ve been that friend.
The one who forgets birthdays, mixes up dates, misses events, and still has the audacity to call someone their best friend.
And maybe that’s why I’m writing this.
Because this blog is my gift to her.
For all the times I didn’t say “thank you.”
For all the times I missed saying, “I’m proud of you.”
For every gift she gave me, I offer this—a small piece of my heart in words.
That bindaas girl, my Shia friend, the one who never let any label define her—Narjes Qasem Nezhad—you’re one of the most special people life blessed me with.
We may not talk every day. We may not celebrate every birthday together. But I hope you know—some bonds don’t need reminders. They live inside the heart, quietly, forever.
Here’s to us, and every platform bench, missed class, burnt greeting card, and endless laughter that made our one year together unforgettable.
And here’s to many more years of friendship, even if lived from afar.
Happy Birthday—whenever it is. 😉
Because even if I forget the date, I’ll never forget you.
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