From Courtroom Walls to Lifelong Calls: A Birthday Letter to My Bestie Benita!

To the Soul Who Turned My World into a Canvas of Colors....Happy Birthday, My Dearest Bestie Benita

Once upon a chaotic 2019, the universe looked down at me and thought, “Poor thing, let’s send her someone weird, wonderful, and wildly loyal.” And boom, you happened.

In the year 2019, life decided to write a plot twist in the most unexpected way.

I had just completed my UG at Holy Cross College, a place bursting with freedom, festivity, and intellectual fire. When my parents suggested I pursue my postgraduation at Thiagarajar College, Madurai, my heart sank faster than a lecture at 3 p.m. The first time I stepped into that campus, I looked around and whispered to myself, “Am I entering a college or a courtroom?” The grey walls, stern gazes, and ID card obsession gave me courtroom drama vibes, and not the K-drama kind.

Still, parents know better, right? They had heard that this was a temple of knowledge. So with half a heart, dragging dreams, and a heavy backpack, I stepped into this new chapter.

I stayed in an outside hostel and took a share auto every day. And I must admit, if there was one thing that gave me hope, it was the early morning breeze at Teppakulam. Cool, fragrant, and reassuring. Every time I stepped out of the auto, it felt like the universe telling me, “It’s going to be fine.”

Now, let me take you to the very first day.

I wore a modest salwar in hues of orange and yellow, trying to look ‘professional’, whatever that meant for a clueless PG fresher. I had already attended the admission interview, so I knew where the classroom was, second floor, right at the end, next to the HOD’s room. No one needed to guide me. I walked in, quietly took my place on the second bench.

There were just seven benches. Seven. Yet I felt like a stranger on an island.

A girl was sitting in the first bench. Little did I know, this silent soul ahead of me would one day redecorate my entire PG journey with colors I never even knew existed.

But fate, being its dramatic self, didn’t introduce her to me immediately. Nope. Instead, I first got close to someone who wore the cloak of friendship but carried the dagger of jealousy. A wrong choice I couldn't predict. But sometimes, life gives you bitter chapters only to prepare you for the beautiful ones.

And exactly a month later, she walked in. Her name was Benita.

Benita.
A name that now feels like a part of my breath, my story.

A fair-skinned girl with soft, frizzy curls, sometimes let loose like wild poetry, sometimes braided with the precision of purpose. She wore a gentle puff atop her head like a quiet crown, never demanding attention, yet always deserving it. Her salwars, stitched with simple elegance, spoke volumes of a girl raised in grace. One side of her shawl floated like a breeze, always pinned with care, never too loud, never too plain. Just like her.

A golden Jesus cross rested near her heart, the same pendant I wore too, as if the universe was writing our bond long before we noticed. Her faith shone in her silence, and her kindness in her words.

And oh, when she spoke…
Her words didn’t just fall, they floated like petals. You’d want to catch them, hold them, press them between the pages of your day. Even the junior boys, who barely understood kindness, noticed her, not just for her beauty, but the calm divinity she carried with it.

She was beautiful.
But beauty with depth.
With meaning. With mercy.

I never knew someone like her could enter my life quietly and change everything, without any grand gestures, without fireworks. Just by being who she is.

And today, I look back and realize:
Some people don’t arrive in your life as friends.
They arrive as answers to prayers you didn’t even know you whispered.

Benita was one such girl.

The girl from the first bench.

Quiet, observant, and nothing like the rest. She wasn’t loud. She wasn’t desperate to be liked. But something about her said “safe space.” And slowly, like the first drizzle after a long drought, our conversations began.

What started as small smiles turned into long laughs. Casual chats transformed into life-saving rants. And before I could register it, Benita became home.

She was the calm to my chaos. The logic to my drama. The hug in human form when words weren't enough. She didn’t just become my friend, she rewrote the definition of friendship for me.

Through assignments that felt like torture, seminar sessions that made our souls leave our bodies, and the endless “Did you submit the assignment?” panic, Benita stood beside me, not just as a classmate, but as a co-survivor of academic warfare.

She saw me cry. She made me laugh until I cried. She knew when I was faking a smile. She spoke when I couldn’t. And when life got too noisy, she became my silence.

We’ve shared not just notes, but nerves, noodles, nap breaks, and a thousand unspoken understandings. And guess what? Not even a single day has passed without a message from her. That’s not routine. That’s love in disguise.

Benita and I weren’t close at first. We were those quiet benchmates who shared the same row, the same energy, and even the same unspoken belief in something deeper. She was the calm type, the girl who wouldn’t speak much but whose silence held more meaning than a thousand noisy conversations. We weren’t bonded by long talks or dramatic promises. Just… a playful tug at her salwar knot, the silly hand signs we created to communicate across the benches, and the comfortable space of quiet companionship.

But sometimes, all it takes is one moment, one heart-cracking, soul-exposing moment, for everything to shift.

It was just a random day. The kind that begins with the same auto ride, the same chilly Teppakulam breeze, but something in my body was off. I couldn’t explain it. Dizzy. Disoriented. Weak. By the time I stepped into the college compound, I knew I wasn’t well. But I had a seminar scheduled that day, our first seminar. And I had prepared so much for it.

I gathered whatever scraps of strength I had left, dragged myself to the classroom, and gave my presentation, heart thumping, legs shaking, voice trembling. The moment it ended, I collapsed mentally and physically. My energy was gone. I needed help. And in that moment of desperation, I turned to the one I had considered my “friend” until then.

But what do you do when the one you trust chooses to walk away?

She hesitated. She looked at me. And she left.

It was a silence louder than betrayal. And I sat there, stunned, not just because I felt sick, but because I realized that some people only walk with you when the road is smooth.

But then........Benita.

She had her own seminar that day. She could’ve focused on herself, and no one would have blamed her. But instead, she came to me. Calm, steady, gentle. She noticed my pain without me saying a word. She went straight to the faculty, explained my condition, and requested that I be allowed to rest in the nearby M.Phil classroom, where no one would disturb me.

And she didn’t stop there.

She helped me walk there. She sat me down. And then she looked into my eyes and said words that didn’t just comfort, they anchored me.

"I’ll finish mine and come right back. You don’t worry. You just stay strong until then, okay?"

That strength in her voice stayed with me.

After her seminar, she didn’t wait. She didn’t ask. She ran.

To the canteen.

Now, if you’ve ever studied in Thiagarajar, you know how the canteen is, a battlefield of hungry students, noise, chaos, and queues longer than my seminar script. Even I never dared to enter that crowd for something as basic as tea. But Benita? She moved like it was her mission. Alone. Shawl pinned tight. Green salwar catching the sunlight. One hand holding her phone. The other?

Carrying idly and sambar, in her bare hands.

No foil. No package. No hesitation.

I was walking slowly along the corridor when I saw her from the second floor, that single image etched in my soul forever. My breath hitched. My eyes welled up. In a world where everyone talks love but walks away from responsibility, this girl was carrying warmth in her palms and love in action.

She didn’t care who stared. Not the boys who followed her. Not the whispers around her beauty. She didn’t care about image, pride, or fear. She chose me. She chose friendship. She chose to serve, not speak.

And that day, I broke. Not because I was weak, but because I had finally witnessed what true kindness looks like.

I looked at the girl who walked away earlier and realized, some people are guests in your life. But some? Some are your home.

I ended the fake friendship Miss Perfect-for-Everyone-Except-Me (YA....NI). I let go of the one who disguised herself in smiles but showed her back when I needed a hand. And I turned fully, finally, completely, to Benita.

That evening, I told her everything. With teary eyes, trembling voice, and a heart that didn’t know how to say thank you big enough. I confessed how much her gesture meant to me. I told her she was rare. She was real. And from that day on, I promised myself this:

“I will never take this soul for granted.”

Benita, you were not a chapter. You were the whole turning point.
You didn’t give me friendship, you gave me faith.
In humanity. In healing. In quiet heroes like you.

I will carry this memory until my last breath.
And I will tell it again and again, so the world knows:
You don’t need grand gestures to change someone’s life.
Sometimes, all it takes is idly in bare hands.

From that one day, the day she carried breakfast in her bare hands, something shifted in me forever. I wasn’t just her friend anymore. I became her loyalist. Her unofficial bodyguard. Her honorary sister. Her secret-keeper. Her sidekick.

And from that moment, there was no looking back.

We grew close, not through promises, but through actions. Through shared sambar, eye rolls, deep discussions over shallow decisions, and laughter that could echo down the second-floor corridors of Thiagarajar. If ever someone caught a glimpse of two girls with glowing eyes, loud laughs, and plates in hand, walking like they owned the canteen, that was us.

Oh, our canteen days, how can I ever forget?

That place wasn’t just a food joint. It was our private war room, therapy corner, spiritual retreat, and comedy club, all rolled into one. I didn’t even like coffee before PG. But Benita turned me into a loyal coffee sipper, not for the taste, but for the talk. One sip. One stare. One sigh. And suddenly, the world's hardest problems didn’t feel that heavy.

And somehow, coffee never went wrong with her.

There’s something sacred about sitting on those benches, two steel cups clinking, making reckless life decisions like, “Should I drop this subject or dropkick this person?” And she always had answers. She always had peace. And she always had my back.

But let’s now shift to the real MVP of our PG days, her scooty.

Oh yes. The Pet Baby.

It wasn’t just a vehicle. It was a soul on two wheels. Her scooty knew all our stories, every tear, scream, near-death experience, and musical number performed on the way to class. And the best part? She gave it to me, without a second thought.

Do you understand the weight of that trust?

In an age where people won’t even share their chargers, this girl handed me her scooty keys like she was handing over her heartbeat.

And me? Oh, I almost killed her. Multiple times. Especially on bridge roads. I don’t even know driving properly, but the way she believed in me? It was so dangerously inspiring that I took the wheel and nearly drove us both into the Arabian Sea.

Yet she never yelled. Never hesitated. Never stopped trusting.

Benita, thank you for Pet Baby.
I miss that scooty like it’s my third bestie.
She was your ride. But she became our freedom on wheels.

In all these moments, some sweet, some scary, you never let go of me. When my classmates turned their backs, you turned into a shield. You protected my name when I wasn’t even in the room. And not just silently, you dared people, you defended, and you stood tall when I couldn’t.

You fought for me when others just watched.
You gave when others only took.
You stood by me when others stepped away.
And for that, I’ll be grateful till my last cup of canteen coffee.

Benita, you’re not just a person.
You’re a place. My safe place.
My temple of trust.
My ride-or-die on scooty and in life.
My enchanter in Eden.

You’re the friend people write poems about.
You’re the kind of loyalty that makes the heavens jealous.
And you’re the reason I still believe in the magic of real friendship.

People often say college friendships fade like chalk on a board, but Benita broke that myth like she breaks hearts with her beauty and sarcasm.

She wasn’t just my best friend during college, she’s still mine. Entirely. Wholeheartedly. Unapologetically.

Something invisible, yet unshakable, stitches us together. Like a thread only the soul can feel. We don’t talk about it often, we don’t need to, we just know.

Even after stepping into the big, chaotic world of Ph.D life, when everyone is lost in their own whirlwinds of research papers and existential dread, she stood by me, calm as ever, wise as always. Helping. Guiding. Listening. Lifting.

She’s given me countless life advices, not from textbooks, but from her heart. She’s the walking-talking version of “Google it later, I’ll tell you now.”

But among all those chapters, one moment sits closest to my heart:

I was there, when she submitted her Ph.D application.

And that, right there, was not just a proud moment. It was a soul moment. The kind that makes you teary-eyed in a crowded corridor, trying not to sob because someone’s handing over the future in a brown envelope. The kind every best friend deserves to witness. The kind I will never forget.

Because dreams are better when you're not just chasing your own, but clapping for someone else’s too.

I joined as just another M.A student…
Unaware that the girl sitting a bench away would soon become my person. My compass. My forever.

I never imagined then that we weren’t just going to share a classroom…
But share a destiny.
A fate stitched with academic dreams, late-night calls, emotional breakdowns, seminar victories, and scooty rides that almost cost our lives, but made our bond stronger.

Now we’re walking the final stretch of this journey…
Soon, we’ll both wear that white coat, not just as students, but as Doctors of Philosophy.

And when that day comes
When the convocation hall echoes with applause,
When they call your name and say, “Dr. Benita”…
I’ll be there. In the same coat. With the same tears. And a heart full of pride.

Because nothing makes me prouder than knowing we didn’t just dream together, we achieved together.

Thank you, Benita, for every golden day. For every cup of coffee. Every silent support. Every loud laugh.
And for being the purest soul I’ve ever known.

Happy Birthday, my soul. My day-one. My Ph.D partner in crime.
Here’s to many more milestones, memories, and morning walks in white coats.
Forever your bestie. Until the very end.

No matter how many journals reject our paper with that legendary line — “Not suitable for publication” (like, excuse us?!), we never stop writing. Because that’s what we do. We bleed brains and caffeine onto paper. And when all journals say no, we’ll create our own and name it "Ben & Swat: Chronicles of Chaotic Excellence."

We’ve been each other’s editors, cheerleaders, and last-minute proofreaders (usually 10 minutes before the deadline, with 3 tabs crashing). But guess what? All those rejections didn’t matter. Because now we share the most prestigious title — Dr. in front of our names!

So here’s to us 
To the girls who turned heartbreaks into hypotheses,
To the duo that drafts destiny together,
And to the stubborn minds that never gave up even when MS Word crashed 17 times.

Love you, girl. Thanks for being the footnote to every good day and the headline of my life.
Happy birthday to my co-author in chaos, my bestie, my Benita. Let’s keep writing,  journals or not!

They can reject our paper, but never our passion. Or our friendship.

And now, years later, we’re still here. Stronger. Closer. Unshakable.

We met as strangers in a dull classroom.
Now, we are family shaped by fate, molded by memories.

And soon, Doctorates together. Who would've thought that the same girl from the first bench would sit beside me even at the finish line?

Benita, you’re not just a friend.
You are the proof that friendship isn’t about how often you laugh, but about who stands beside you when your world is silent.

Happy birthday, my first-bench blessing.
Thank you for turning my courtroom college into a cathedral of memories.

Same course. 

Same college. 

Same chaos. 

And soon… 

the same white coat.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY GIRL BENITA!