Most of the time, their conversations didn’t follow logic, structure, or purpose—they were just two people yapping whatever came to mind, often over food, late-night texts, or stolen moments between work and family chaos. One moment they’d be discussing if aliens wore pajamas, and the next, arguing over who would win in a fight: a hundred duck-sized horses or one horse-sized duck.

Laughter came easy. Teasing came easier. Nikhil would mimic her dramatic designer tantrums—“Yeh lace nahi, yeh toh insult hai!”—and she’d smack his arm with a cushion so hard it became their unofficial way of saying I adore you, idiot. He’d often flick her forehead for fun, and she’d respond with a loud “Ouch!” followed by a sharp jab to his ribs with her elbow.