For My Rasshu,
From Your Monya
Everything here is true. Take your time.
To You, Whenever You Open This
Sonya, if you're reading this, it probably means you needed somewhere quiet to land for a minute. Good. That's exactly what this is for.
I still think about the tuition classroom sometimes — you, still in your school uniform, and me, trying very hard to look like a serious teacher and not like someone who'd already noticed how lively you were, how your smile showed up before you even meant it to. I didn't know back then that the girl I was teaching till her 10th would end up being the one who taught me what it means to be truly taken care of.
You cook for me. You attend to me. You care for me in a hundred small ways you probably don't even count. So this is me, trying to do one thing back — build you a place that's just yours, for the days everything else feels like too much.
You Don't Have to Carry That
I know you haven't said this out loud, but I see it anyway — that quiet weight you've been carrying, the one that says I wasn't there for him when he needed me, so what right do I have to lean on him now.
Rasshu, listen to me carefully: that debt does not exist. It never did. I'm not keeping a ledger of the days you showed up and the days you couldn't. I never was. Life caught you at a hard angle back then — that's all that happened. It wasn't a betrayal, it was just timing, and timing isn't something either of us gets to control.
The girl who couldn't be there for me back then, and the girl who cooks for me, cares for me, and holds this relationship together now — they are the same person I fell for outside that tuition class. I don't love a version of you that owes me anything. I just love you.
So please, put it down. You are allowed to need me now without having earned it first. You are allowed to fall apart a little without settling some imaginary account first. Come here, Sonya. Not because you owe it to me — just because I'm yours, and you're mine, and that was never conditional.
Reasons Your Monya Loves You
Tap it as many times as you want. I meant every single one.
Tap the button to begin.
Our Favorites, So Far
The Car Ride
Windows down, some song neither of us was actually singing correctly, driving somewhere beautiful just because we could. You forgot every single stress the second the chorus hit. That's still my favorite version of you — off-key, completely free, whole heart in your throat.
The Backlog Dance
The day your result came and that backlog was finally, finally cleared, we didn't do anything sensible about it. We just danced, right there, like you'd won something enormous. Because you had. I have never been prouder of anyone in my life.
About the Backlog, and Every Battle After
I know right now home doesn't always feel like a place you can rest in, and your books probably feel like one more thing demanding energy you don't have left to give. You don't have to have it all figured out today. You just have to keep going — one subject, one hard conversation, one day at a time — the exact same way you cleared that backlog you once thought you couldn't.
You did it once when you didn't believe you could. You will do it again. I've already seen you do the impossible version of this.
And your family — I can't fix that from here, and I won't pretend to. But you are not carrying it by yourself anymore, even on the days I can't physically be next to you. Call me at 2am if you need to. Cry if you need to. Fall apart a little if you need to. I taught you once, a long time ago, back when you were just a student and I was just your teacher. Now let me just be your Monya, and let me hold some of this weight with you.
Feeling Heavy Right Now?
Press this. Just for a minute.