I woke up today to several missed calls.

That in itself is unusual. Nobody really calls anymore. So when I saw multiple missed calls from a friend, I knew something wasn’t right.

Then I saw the message.

A WhatsApp image. An obituary.

And his face.

Ronak.

For a few seconds, maybe longer, I just stared at the screen. My brain froze. It didn’t register. It couldn’t. There was a strange silence inside me, like everything had paused at once.

And then, almost instantly, the memories came rushing in.

Mumbai. University. All of us together. Those years that felt endless at the time. The laughter, the chaos, the friendships that shaped such a big part of who we are today.

I thought about the little things we shared.

His birthday was one day before mine. Every year, without fail, I would wish him first. And then, almost like clockwork, a few hours later, he would wish me back. It was our thing. A small, simple connection that we never really spoke about, but always showed up for.

Now that will never happen again.

And that thought hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

We had spoken just last month. Mid-March. Just messages on WhatsApp. Reminiscing about the good old days, like we often did. He would randomly reach out from time to time, bringing up memories I hadn’t thought about in years.

Fashion shows in uni. How he would participate and we would go and support him and other friends. Those nights during exam time when he would come over to my place and we would stay up all night studying.

And then that one memory we always laughed about.

The night we stayed up till morning preparing for an exam. No sleep at all. And when we finally got to the exam hall, completely exhausted, he lasted less than an hour before walking out and going straight home to sleep.

We all knew how that exam turned out for him.

But that was him. And that was us. Moments that didn’t feel important at the time, but somehow became the ones you remember years later.

That’s what I will hold on to.

He was one of those friends where even if we didn’t speak regularly, nothing ever changed. There was no pressure. No expectations. Just a quiet understanding. Mutual respect. Wishing the best for each other, always.

And from everything I know, he loved his family deeply. I had seen first hand how much he cared for his sister. His daughters were his world.

That’s the part that hurts the most to think about.

I’m sitting here now, going through old photos of us on Facebook. One from a birthday of mine from years ago. He’s there. Sitting, laughing, completely in the moment with all of us.

And it suddenly hits you.

That moment will never exist again in the same way.

Even if we all meet again someday. Even if life somehow brings us back under the same roof.

He won’t be there.

And that changes everything.

Life feels very fragile in moments like this.

We go about our days assuming there will always be more time. Another call. Another message. Another plan. Another birthday wish.

But the truth is, we don’t know that.

We never really do.

So if there’s anything I take from today, it’s this.

Stay in touch with your people.

The old friends. The new ones. The ones you think you’ll speak to “soon.”

Because sometimes that last call, that last message, that last voice note, that last photo… ends up being the last one.

I don’t think I have the words for anything more right now.

Maybe I will, someday.

Maybe I’ll come back and write about more memories. More moments. More of the good times we shared.

But for now, I’m just going to sit with this.

And try to process a world where Ronak is no longer in it.

— Raulito