The Days We Didn’t Know We’d Miss


There was a time when friendship needed no explanation.
It was simply Isha, Pooja, and me-three little girls who could turn an ordinary afternoon into an entire world.
We played until someone called us home.
We fought over the smallest things and forgot them five minutes later.
We made up games with rules only we understood, laughed at jokes that weren't even funny, and somehow believed those evenings would last forever.
And then there were the days at Nani’s house.
Those were different.
The house felt bigger when we were together-filled with running footsteps, half-finished games, loud laughter, little arguments, stolen snacks, and stories that had no ending. There were home parties that felt grander than any celebration, because we didn't need decorations or anything expensive.
We were enough of a celebration for each other.
We didn't know then that we were collecting memories.
We thought we were just playing.
We didn't know that one day, we'd look back and realize those noisy afternoons were some of the quietest treasures of our lives.
Somewhere between growing older, choosing careers, finding our own people, and becoming versions of ourselves that our younger selves wouldn't even recognize, the conversations became fewer.
The messages became occasional.
The three of us still exist.
But sometimes I miss the version of us that existed without distance, without busy schedules, without unanswered messages, without life constantly asking us to be somewhere else.
I miss when Isha and Pooja weren't people I had to make time for.
They were simply there.
And maybe that's the strangest part of growing up.
Nobody announces the ending of childhood.
There is no final day.
One day you're sitting together at Nani's house, laughing until your stomach hurts, and then suddenly years have passed-and you're looking at old memories wondering how three girls who once knew every little thing about each other became people who sometimes don't know what the other had for dinner.
But I don't think growing apart erases what we were.
Because some friendships don't disappear.
They simply become quieter.
And perhaps, somewhere inside all three of us, those little girls are still running around Nani's house, arguing over a silly game, laughing too loudly, waiting for the next home party to begin.
Isha. Pooja. Me.
Three girls.
One childhood.
A thousand little memories.
And a friendship that may have grown quieter with time-
but will always have a home in the place where we first learned what it meant to have each other.


“We grew up thinking those were ordinary days, never knowing they were the days we would spend our lives missing.”

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