Our Moments
Ten Years of Moments
May 6, 2016 — May 6, 2026
A girl from Mumbai boarded a flight and landed in San Diego to pursue her Master's. A boy from Delhi did the same. They did not know each other. They did not know they were about to.
Two people from opposite sides of India, arriving in the same city, at the same university, in the same chapter of life — without a clue what the universe was quietly setting up.
His roommate was dating her roommate. So two people who had no reason to meet started spending time in the same rooms, at the same tables, in the same moments. Not by design. By something else entirely.
Slowly, quietly, without either of them quite realising it — a friendship was forming. The kind that doesn't announce itself. The kind that just shows up, one ordinary day at a time, until one day it's anything but ordinary.
"The universe, quietly at work."
The day everything changed
Sudden. Electric. Completely out of nowhere.
My favourite moment in ten years.
San Diego. SDSU. Two people from opposite sides of India, starting a new chapter in the same city, with no idea their lives were about to collide.
His roommate, her roommate. Shared evenings, shared tables, shared moments that didn't seem significant at the time. They would later.
Sudden. Electric. Out of nowhere. The moment that rearranged everything. Ten years later, still his favourite moment of all of them.
Kolkata. Under fairy lights. Two families, one night, one word that changed everything that came after. Forever — and they meant it.
Mumbai. Their first house together. Two people building a life, room by room, city by city, moment by moment.
San Diego again. The city where it all started — now also the city where they planted roots. Full circle, and then some.
Ten years from a first kiss that changed everything. Here's to the next ten. And the ten after that.
25 places. Two people. One life.
Ten years ago, two strangers left their homes on opposite sides of India and landed in the same city in a country neither of them had ever lived in. A girl from Mumbai. A boy from Delhi. They did not know each other. They did not know they were about to.
San Diego had other plans.
Sayali, I couldn't have found a better soulmate if I'd tried for a thousand years.
There is something I have never quite been able to explain — the way ten years feel like ten days when I am with you. Every morning I still feel lucky. Every evening I still find myself wanting to tell you things, only to remember you're already right there. That hasn't changed. I don't think it ever will.
I know exactly why.
May 6th, 2016. I didn't see it coming — not the way it happened, not the way it felt. Sudden. Electric. Completely out of nowhere. The kind of moment that stops time just long enough for you to understand that everything after it will be different. That first kiss is my favourite moment in ten years. And in ten more, I suspect it still will be. I have replayed it more times than I will ever admit. It still feels exactly the same — like something shifted, quietly and permanently, and the world rearranged itself around you. Some moments don't need explaining. That one never did.
People told me opposites attract. They didn't tell me opposites would complete each other this perfectly. You're the detail I overlook. The calm I interrupt. The one who actually reads the fine print while I'm already three steps ahead, convinced we've figured it out. I bring the ideas; you make them actually work. I bring the energy; you bring the plan. Honestly, the world should be worried — because every single time we show up as a team, we absolutely crush it.
And you are smarter than me. I know it. You know it. The neighbours probably know it. I have made peace with this, graciously, which I think deserves some recognition.
You are more caring than anyone I have ever known — quietly, without announcement, without needing credit. You notice things no one else does. You remember what matters. You hold people together while making it look effortless. That is its own kind of brilliance, and I have been its greatest beneficiary.
There is something I have noticed about myself, and I suspect you already know it. Wherever you are is where I want to be. Not out of obligation — just because the room you are not in always feels slightly off. When you are away, I find myself gravitating toward nothing in particular, restless in a way I cannot explain to anyone who asks. You are not where I live. You are home. You have always been home. The city has always been just the address.
And I have missed people in my life — but I have never missed anyone the way I miss you when you are away. That specific ache, the kind that sits quietly in your chest and doesn't leave — that one belongs to you alone. I am not ashamed to admit it. You are the only person I have ever cried over being apart from. I think that says more about you than any word I could write here.
I'm from Delhi. You're from Mumbai. We've argued about this long enough to know neither of us is winning. You'll have your vada pav. I'll have my kulche chole. And somewhere in the delicious middle of that very important debate is our life — full of laughter, full of warmth, and full of the kind of love that doesn't need to announce itself.
Ten years of us. San Diego mornings. Mumbai sunsets. Kolkata nights under fairy lights, saying forever and meaning it. Houses we turned into homes. Roads taken without a map. Strangers who became the people we can't imagine a single day without. I would choose every moment of it again — especially the hard ones, because hard moments with you are still better than easy ones without.
Here's to ten more. And ten more after that. Until we've run out of new cities to fight about, new roads to get lost on, and new reasons to fall in love all over again.
You are the spice to my sweet. The vada pav to my kulche chole. And impossibly, improbably — the best thing that ever happened to a boy from Delhi.
— Souvik
A Decade of Us
Souvik & Sayali
May 6, 2016 — May 6, 2026