You rarely see each other anymore. Maybe on Eid or when you make a quick run to the nearest Agora. In that moment, you hasten through a ten-minute conversation, catching up on mundane events such as work. You agree to call or meet soon, knowing it's an empty promise. Years pass by, and you never give a thought to that lost word. The next day, a notification pops up: a reunion scheduled two weeks from now. 

Before you know it, you're on your way. A quick text to an old friend to let her know you're coming. A CNG ride as long as the memories in a yearbook. You feel your fingers drumming away to the irregular beats of your heart. You're nervous but you're also looking forward to it. 

Your friends are huddled in a corner booth of Crimson Cup. Your closest friend comes over to greet you with a tight hug and suddenly, you're home. These are the friends you passed secret notes to during Chemistry class. The friends you spent every free period with, gushing about books and heartbreaks - or not at all. The silence was always comfortable with this bunch. They complained with you about the cold shingara in the canteen; somehow, that conversation often inspired you to open a food cart near the school gate. You spent lazy weekends at your friend's house, sitting cross-legged in the verandah as she ransacked her DVD collection. Three movies later, you're still discussing the devastating turn of events in "The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas". 

During ninth grade, they accompanied you to your first study tour to Cox's. These are the friends who sneaked out with you to the beach in the middle of the night. As you walked barefoot on the cold shore, you were transfixed by the moonlit horizon, while Amar Pothchola played on your friend's ancient Motorola Razr. Amidst the pressure of A Level exams, you played borof pani one sweltering afternoon, and whined to them, for hours, about a ridiculous tan the next day. 

Now, life has taken you hundreds of miles away from one another; your relationship spans the length of a WhatsApp thread, with conversations far-flung. Yet, when you see them again, you fall back into the familiar "us versus the world" mentality. You complain about horrible bosses, unfulfilling jobs, failed relationships, creative blocks - you name it. There is an indescribable freedom that comes with old friends that newer friendships lack. You abandon carefully fostered filters and speak your mind like you haven't in years. No matter who you become, there's a subtle realisation that your best friends will always see through you - and that is liberating.

That's the thing about old friendships. It transcends missed birthdays, and years of virtually no contact. It's the kind of friendship where everything you do - whether it's eating a bland shawarma at Star Kabab for the umpteenth time or watching Gossip Girl on repeat - can be painfully mundane, but with the right people, it never ceases to be amazing.

Mithi Chowdhury is a dog-loving-movie-watching-mediocrity-fearing normal person. Either that or a penguin. Find out at mithichy612@gmail.com