the comfort of familiar strangers

these faces and places, these small, seemingly insignificant interactions, have come to mean so much more than i could have imagined. it’s in the quiet moments of routine, the unspoken camaraderie with the people who appear in the background of my life, where i find my solace.

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the lab assistants who always smile at me in the hallways, offering that brief but warm recognition, are like gentle reminders that i’m seen, even when i’m just passing by. the shopkeeper who found that last hidden box of the only pen i use, his eyes half-smiling as he warns me that my pen won’t be around for much longer, knows me better than i sometimes realize. there’s an unspoken understanding between us that goes beyond the mere exchange of goods. i’m left-handed, so i have to be particular. he knows that. it’s strange how that shared knowledge can create a bond.

then there are the cats at my hostel, silently watching the comings and goings of our lives, indifferent yet comforting in their aloofness. my batchmate, the one who wakes up with me before the sun rises, brushing our teeth in quiet, sleepy solidarity. we don’t need to talk much, just the brief "good morning" is enough to acknowledge each other in those early hours.

sundays are different. there’s the server at jumboking who lights up when i approach, always ready to take my order before i even say a word. we share a wordless familiarity, our weekly interaction almost ritualistic at this point. the bus conductor on the route back to college after i’ve spent the weekend at home is another constant presence. the ride itself is uncomfortable, but there’s something reassuring about it too. it’s a reminder that i’m moving between two worlds, and both have their place in my life.

at college, i find comfort in the canteen, not just in the food but in the way the server knows my order by heart. it’s a small thing, but it feels special. i don’t need to say much; he just nods, and within minutes, my food is in front of me. it’s those little gestures that make me feel like i belong.

there’s a certain rhythm to life here. the support staff in the hostel, the bustling roundabout brimming with restaurants and street book vendors, the station where so many journeys begin and end. even my possessions hold meaning — my laptop, the junk i’ve accumulated in the front pocket of my college bag, the kinder joy keychain that dangles from my keys. each object, each place, each person plays a part in this patchwork of daily life.

the fans in my hostel room never stop spinning, always whirring in the background, much like these small, seemingly insignificant relationships that are always present. i never stop to think about it too much, but it’s these little things, these quiet moments, that make up the rhythm of my days. it’s here, in these fleeting connections and everyday routines, that i’ve found a sense of belonging.

they say home is where the heart is, and i’ve come to realize that maybe home is also in the smile of a lab assistant, the quiet "good morning" of a batchmate, and the nod of a server who knows your order without asking.

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