“GET UPPPP!” My mother screamed at the top of her lungs, tossing a pillow at my head. I throatily laughed as I dodged it, and she proceeded to tackle me. One thing led to another, and we were now in cahoots on the hotel floor, tickling and whipping pillows at one another’s faces.
As my sister joined our fight, I grabbed a fistful of hair and declared Sparta.
We dressed well and had breakfast at the world’s largest McDonalds, took artistic pictures at the beach, and made it to Disneyland. Through fireworks, palm trees, creepy hobos, and shaved ice, we classified this vacation as number one on the “hard to beat” list. Florida was on fiya.
But today was different. Today, we were going to a boring, super exclusive “AAPNA”, or “Association of Physicians of Pakistani Descent of North America” conference (ikr), complete with unwinding lectures, bald guys with glasses and beards who use the word “superb” too often, and Aunties who smelled too strongly of Dolce and Gabbana.
As everyone settled in to pray, I sat towards the back trying to figure out if the LVs sketched on a satchel before me were real. I didn’t even have a phone at the time, just an iPod that was breathing its last breaths.
And then I saw a chick.
She had thin glasses, beautiful eyebrows, and a friendly smile. I can’t remember how our first conversation started, but it was along the lines of “Hey, who are you?”. Within ten minutes, we were blabbing on about the things we had in common: the same last name, the same career ambition, age, and the same glittering look in our eyes that allowed the start of a beautiful friendship. When it was time to go, we exchanged imessage IDs (what cool fourteen year olds zOMG) and hoped our paths would cross again.
Although years have passed, we still remained in touch. There is some magical glue that holds us in place and strengthens our connection: we can go months without talking and on my darker days, I see a blue bubble pop up besides her name on Snapchat.
Nabiha and I met once, and we still keep up with each other. Although she lives in Tennessee and weirdly hasn’t met Hannah Montana: she’s like my sweet escape. She only knows what I tell her about me, I don’t have to worry about her telling anyone anything, she offers true advice and is seriously the sweetest person I know. Our friendship has no judgements, no repercussions. To her I am simply me, and I hope to god she feels the same way.
Nabiha remembers my birthday, randomly sends me the happy face emoji and is one of the few people who I love everything about. She randomly reads my blog, texts me fob jokes, and gives me the genuine truth.
Although we’ve vowed to meet again someday, It hurts to say that it won’t be anytime soon. I will do all in my power to make it happen, but it isn’t likely. And that doesn’t matter, because whether I’m on the moon or under my covers at 4:00 am, I know that she is only a text message away with a goofy grin on her gorgeous face.