Vandana

Today is not about us.
It’s about you.

Your strength.
Your softness.
Your growth.
Your becoming.

Before you were my person,
you were someone’s daughter,
someone’s dream,
someone with her own quiet battles and ambitions.

And today, I just want to celebrate you.

This past year, I’ve watched you:

Handle pressure quietly.
Overthink but still move forward.
Care deeply even when you’re tired.
Stay strong even when you felt unsure.

You may not see it —
but you grew.

And I’m proud of the woman this year shaped you into.

There is a specific sound that makes everything else pause.

Your laugh.
It isn't just a sound; it's a sudden shift in the room's gravity.
It’s the way your eyes light up before the smile even reaches your lips.

When you laugh, the heavy things feel lighter.
The complicated things feel simple.

I could spend a lifetime just trying to be the reason behind it.

We live in a world that demands noise and constant motion.

But my favorite place in the world is the silence we share.
Not the awkward kind, but the comfortable, deep silence of two people who don't need words to understand each other.

Whether it's a long drive, a lazy afternoon, or just sitting across from each other, it feels like home.

Your presence is the anchor.
In your quiet, I found my peace.

The way you pretend you’re not emotional —
but feel everything deeply.

The way you get silent when something matters too much.
The way you smile when you’re trying not to cry.
The way you love.

You don’t realize it —
but you make people feel safe.

You make me feel safe.

I see the battles you fight that you never speak of.

I see the way you carry the weight of expectations, the way you try to be everything for everyone, the way you heal your own wounds so you can keep moving forward.

You are so incredibly resilient.
Not the loud, demanding kind of strong.
But the quiet, enduring kind. Like a deeply rooted tree weathering the storm.

Never forget how powerful you are.

I don’t wish for a perfect year for you.

I wish for:

Confidence in moments you doubt yourself.
Peace when your mind runs too fast.
Courage to chase what scares you.
And the strength to never shrink for anyone.

And selfishly —
I hope I get to watch you win.

Birthdays are about growth.
And growth means change.

But one thing hasn’t changed in two years.

I still choose you.

Not loudly.
Not dramatically.

Just steadily.

There is a certain warmth that follows you.

It is in the way you listen.
It is in the way you make space for people.
It is in the way you make others feel less alone.

Some people decorate rooms.
You change the atmosphere of every room.

Wherever you are, people breathe easier.

Not every memory is a grand moment.

Some are tiny and ordinary —
the way you say my name,
the way you pause before sharing something important,
the way your hand finds mine without thinking.

Those are the moments I store carefully.
The ones that look small from outside, but mean everything to me.

If life moves fast, I hope your heart stays unhurried.

I hope you get mornings that feel light,
work that feels meaningful,
and nights that end in peace.

I hope your confidence becomes louder than your fear.
I hope your joy becomes your default setting.

And when the world feels heavy,
I hope you remember this:
you were made for beautiful things.

Thank you for being exactly who you are.

Thank you for your patience.
Thank you for your honesty.
Thank you for choosing love even when life is not simple.

If I could write one thing into every page of your future, it would be this:
may you always know your worth, and may you always feel deeply loved.