The comfort of people who knew you before you became who you are

Yesterday reminded me of something I had almost forgotten.

A school friend came over, and with her was her roommate. At first , it was just a normal evening. We sat together, caught up on life, asked the usual questions adults ask each other. But then , somehow , we wandered into school memories.

And just like that, it felt as if someone had opened a door to a room that had been locked for years.

We started remembering the smallest , most ridiculous things. The kind of memories that don’t make sense to anyone else but somehow make you laugh until your stomach hurts.

We talked about teachers , old classrooms, annual functions, punishments, lunch breaks, and classmates we haven’t seen in years.

At one point, we remembered a teacher whose name was Lal sir. Someone in our class had once written his name as “Red Sir” on the board, and for some reason, that memory still had us laughing years later. It wasn’t even funny anymore. I think we were laughing because, for a few moments, we weren’t adults carrying responsibilities. We were just children sitting in the last bench again.

Her roommate mostly sat there smiling, listening to us. Every now and then she would ask , “And then what happened?” It must have sounded like complete chaos to her, but somehow she enjoyed every story. Watching someone else laugh at our memories made me realize how alive those moments still are inside us.

Then we opened our old photographs.

Pictures from school trips, farewell functions, sports day, birthdays, blurry selfies taken on phones with terrible cameras.

We kept saying the same thing over and over.

“Look at us “

We looked so different. Smaller. Simpler. We had not yet become people who worried about careers, deadlines, expectations, or the future. We were just kids trying to survive homework and going school would be cancelled because of rain.

It’s strange how photographs don’t just show how you have changed on the outside. They remind you how much of life has happened in between.

What I love most about old friends is that there is never any pressure to explain who you are.

They already know.

They knew you before you learned to hide your emotions. Before you started choosing your words carefully. Before life taught you to overthink every conversation.

There is no awkward silence because they are already familiar with a version of you that nobody else has met.

Maybe that’s why conversations with school friends feel so light.

You don’t spend time introducing yourself. You spend time remembering yourself. When the evening ended, I realised something.

Growing up gives us new people, new places, new stories. But every once in a while, it’s comforting to sit beside someone who remembers the chapters you forgot you had.

And perhaps that the quite magic of childhood friendship.

They don’t just remind you of where you’ve been.

For a little while, they let you become that carefree version of yourself.