I was forced. But I would've done it willingly anyway

You know how every emotionally constipated, caffeine-fueled, chaotically functional romcom protagonist has that one person?

The human equivalent of a late-night junk food binge, an unexpected Spotify shuffle that just gets you, or a perfectly timed meme at 2:13 AM that reminds you why you haven’t set fire to everything yet?

Yeah. That’s him.

My best friend.
My brother in disguise.
My emotional support menace.
My gossip hotline.
My Joey to my Chandler.
My Louis to my Harvey and Donna.

He is that guy — the one who shows up on the worst days with exactly zero solutions but all the wrong answers delivered with so much confidence, I almost believe them. The guy who brings chaos in his backpack and peace in his presence, sometimes in the same breath. The one who makes me laugh when I want to disappear, and then makes me want to disappear again by being the most exasperating human in the room.

I’m convinced he wakes up, stretches dramatically like he’s in a Bollywood movie, drinks that suspiciously colourful mixed fruit juice, looks at the sky, and whispers, “Let’s test how far I can push her today without getting disowned.”

And he does. With pride. With dedication. With a consistency that’s both impressive and mildly concerning.

We’ve travelled together — and by travelled, I mean: he's slept and I've spent the entire journey with my thoughts, ate bags of chips, argued over Google Maps directions, and somehow made every single moment feel like a memory worth holding on to.

We’ve danced like nobody was watching.
(They were. We have video proof. It’s horrifying.)
We’ve gossiped like two aunties with unlimited chai and no social filter, from who’s dating who, to “you know what she said to him?”, to full FBI-level breakdowns of Instagram stories posted at 3:47 AM.

We’ve had those 1 AM conversations that feel like therapy, minus the therapist, where we talk about life like we’re seasoned philosophers with trauma and Wi-Fi. We aren’t. But it sounds cool when we say it.

We’ve laughed until we couldn’t breathe.
Cried until we accidentally made each other laugh again.
And somewhere between all that madness, we built something solid. Unshakeable.

You see, this friendship? It’s not curated. It’s not aesthetic or picture-perfect. It’s not matching outfits and sun-kissed photos.

It’s messy. Loud. Full of half-said things and unspoken understandings. It’s the kind of bond that doesn’t need Instagram validation because it’s in the everyday — in the “I saved you a seat” without saying it, in the eye-rolls across classrooms, in the texts that just say “You alive?” and mean so much more.

It’s in the shared memes at odd hours.
It’s in the “you’re being a condescending ass, but I’m still here” kind of support.
It’s in the “we fought yesterday, but here’s your daily dose of me” energy.
It’s in every dumb argument over him wanting jeera aalu, dahi boondi, and me wanting butter chicken that somehow ends in both of us agreeing on fries instead.
It’s in that unexplainable knowing that when the world feels heavy, he’s just one call (and probably one roast) away.

And oh, let’s talk about the Food.
Because that deserves its own paragraph.

He brings a big packet of chips or soya sticks like he’s bringing peace to the nation, holds it up like Rafiki with Simba, and says with drama only he can deliver:
“This is for us.”

Ten seconds later, I’m holding one broken chip. He’s holding the empty packet, licking his fingers, and going, “Oh… you wanted some?”

Truly a selfless, generous man.
The Gandhi of junk food.

But even with his Dorito theft tendencies, I can’t stay mad for long. Because when I told him I was shifting schools and we’d finally be in the same class, he lit up like a Diwali ad.

“This is going to be legendary,” he declared, Bollywood background score practically playing.

Day one?

He ghosted.
Didn’t show up. No apology. Not even a fake excuse. Just vibes and betrayal.

I wish I could say that was the only time he disappointed me. But the thing is — he does disappoint me. Regularly. Beautifully. With flair. Because that’s just who he is.

But he also shows up. Every. Single. Time.
In the moments that matter, he’s there — with his loud voice, his unsolicited opinions, his chaotic warmth, and his very weird playlists.

For every time he’s made me want to scream, there are a hundred moments where he’s made me feel held. Like I’m not alone. Like someone gets it, even when they don’t. Especially when they don’t.

He’s annoying, infuriating, illogical, and entirely irrational —
But he’s also loyal, consistent, hilarious, and kind in a way he’ll never admit.

I may roast him publicly. I may call him:
– A human headache
– A walking contradiction
– The CEO of bad decisions
– A Dorito-stealing drama queen
– A clown with a PhD in gossip and nonsense

But I’ll never call him a bad friend.
Because he’s on of the best ones I’ve got.

He’s my constant.
My chaos.
My favourite person — even when I pretend he’s not. Especially when I pretend he’s not.

So yeah. He may have blackmailed me into writing this.
He may have dropped a million “halwi mera kahan hai?” hints, layered with guilt and passive-aggressive emotional torture.

But here it is. The post. The appreciation. The crown on your chaotic little head.

Take your moment. Bask in it. Screenshot it. Frame it.

Because in about 3.7 seconds, I’m going back to bullying you.
And please, for the love of all that’s holy…

Leave me at least FIVE Chips next time and dont steal my chilli chicken!
Seriously. I’m watching you.

Love you, you ass.

As ever,

Ambika