Dear Richa,
I don't know when it happened exactly. Somewhere between your terrible jokes and 2am voice notes, you became the person I think about before I fall asleep.
You've been my best friend for years. You know the worst parts of me and stayed anyway. You made ordinary days feel like something worth remembering. And somewhere along the way — I don't know when — I started wanting more than just friendship.
I'm not writing this to pressure you. I'm writing this because you deserve honesty more than silence, and because pretending has started to feel like lying to the one person I never want to lie to.
You make me want to be better. Not the polished version — the real, quiet, decent kind of better. And I think that's rare, and I think it's you.
Whatever you do with this — even if it's nothing, even if it changes things — I just needed you to know: you are loved. By me, in a way I didn't plan for and can't undo.
Happy birthday, Richa.
— Sudhanshu, your best friend (and something more, if you'll let me)