From my heart to yours

Mahnoor,

I've been trying to write this all week. Every draft started the same way — with your name — and then stopped, because there isn't a sentence long enough to hold everything that comes after it.

So let me just tell you small, true things instead.

I love that you're the loudest laugh in a quiet room and the quietest person in a loud one. I love that even on the days I don't say much, just being near you makes everything feel lighter, like the room finally exhales.

I love that somehow, out of everyone in the world, my hand and your hand ended up on the same desk. That still feels like a rumour someone made up and it accidentally came true.

You are the best part of the most ordinary days. That's not a small thing to be. Most people only manage to be the best part of the special ones.

Twenty-three years ago today the world got quietly better, and nobody thought to announce it. I found out late. I've been making up for lost time ever since.

Happy birthday, my love. Thank you for being born. Thank you for staying.