Loudly, Chaotically, Unapologetically

On August 28th, 2025, I looked out the window of the second-floor common room — at the parked cars, the moving people, the quiet chaos of beginnings — and thought to myself that I had absolutely no idea what was about to come.

I remember feeling, somehow, that something great was bound to happen to me within those walls.

And it did.

I had to learn how to live by myself for the very first time in my life. I made friends — some stayed, some didn't. I got hurt, time and time again. But when I look back now, I can't bring myself to dwell on the bad parts. All I seem to remember are the good ones.

It started, I think, with the night of hoco — slipping down the trail together, trees dark on either side, the kind of talking you only do when no one else is watching. Stories we hadn't told before. Hours that felt like minutes. Then a Diwali party that somehow turned into an impromptu afterparty, a room full of people who didn't quite know each other yet, leaving with a surprisingly good impression of our company. And then a night in 206 — practically strangers still, just talking and talking into the dark until the sun had come up and it was time for breakfast, and we weren't strangers anymore. That was the beginning of something, though none of us knew it yet. The first snow day spent tumbling down hills, breathless and stupid with cold, mildly inappropriate drawings left on the terrace of Harmony like we owned the place.

And then, somewhere along the way, the nights started bleeding into each other. Four people on one bed, limbs everywhere, 4 a.m. conversations that made no sense and somehow meant everything. Midnight walks to the gas station — restless, alive, too loud for the hour — just because we could. Dancing like idiots after a midterm, pure relief, and then sitting long after the music stopped, unwilling to let it end. All-nighters that became breakfast, the omelette addict sprinting through the streets at 10 a.m. on no sleep, making it by seconds. The trip downtown running on caffeine and each other, and then sleeping through lectures and getting clipped for it and not quite caring.

Without quite noticing, we became each other's lifelines. Calling every night through finals — not to study, just to play Ludo and Bluff, because somehow that made it all feel survivable. Cussing each other out, saying terrible things, hugging five minutes later like nothing happened. Because nothing had. There were walks in the valley too, walking on unbuilt paths, sky too big for our problems, talking about everything we were scared to leave behind and everything we were scared to walk into — and Mafia games where someone always gave themselves away with a laugh too soon, a silence too long. The music room, late, with the comfiest chairs in the building and the silliest conversations we ever had.

Of course, there was the 2nd floor 'community' kitchen. The one where I got hit by the cricket ball and kept coming back anyway — because it meant Maggi at midnight, strawberry chai experiments that had no business working, and scrambling for food after forgetting to eat dinner. The 9th East study room. 7th Common. Small, unremarkable places that somehow held the best of us.

We can't sleep in the common rooms anymore. It would be strange now, I suppose. But back then, we never had to second-guess ourselves. We just existed — loudly, chaotically, unapologetically. Cold floors. Aimless walks. Talking about nothing and everything until the sky went from black to grey to gold. None of it looks like much on paper. But together, it felt like everything.

Because no road is ever too long when you're walking it with the right people.

I think that's what Harmony Commons really gave me. Not just memories — but people. The kind who stay beside you in your chaos without trying to fix it, who make you feel like home even when you're far from it.

Friends who became home.

And on April 24th, 2026, I was back at that same window.

I think about the Ayra who stood here on the first day — heart full of some unnamed feeling, certain only that something was about to change.

She had no idea.

Not about the chaos. Not about the love. And definitely not about how much of herself she would find in other people.

Harmony Commons | November 22, 2025