There are some people who make you feel seen without ever

making a grand gesture.

My cousin was one of them.

She was nearly a decade older than I was, but she never made me feel

like the little cousin tagging along.

She made me feel like her favorite shopping companion.

Our adventures usually began on Commercial Street in Bangalore.

We would wander through shop after shop, pulling dresses off crowded racks

and disappearing into tiny dressing rooms.

I would step outside wearing yet another outfit, turning toward her

before I even looked in the mirror.

"Akka, how does it look?"

She rarely studied the stitching or the color.

Instead, she looked at my face.

If my eyes sparkled, she would smile and simply say,

"You look lovely in this."

Looking back now, I realize she wasn't really talking about the clothes.

She was celebrating the happiness they brought me.

That quiet encouragement made me feel beautiful long before I understood

that confidence has very little to do with what we wear.

Once our shopping bags were happily full, we would stroll through the narrow gullies

where rows of Kolhapuri sandals waited outside tiny shops.

Half the fun was never buying them.

It was bargaining.

We would confidently announce a price neither of us expected the shopkeeper to accept,

dramatically pretend to walk away,

and secretly wait for the familiar voice behind us.

"Madam... okay... come back!"

The victorious smile we exchanged in that moment made the sandals

feel even softer on our feet.

Then came my favorite part of the day.

Bhagath Ram Sweets.

It wasn't a grand shop.

In fact, it was tucked away in one of the busy side streets.

But there was always a crowd.

Inside, fresh Gulab Jamuns floated in wide kadhais of fragrant syrup,

still warm from the stove.

We would patiently wait our turn before carrying away bowls of the softest,

most delicate Gulab Jamuns I have ever tasted.

Even today, after tasting countless versions, none have quite matched

those little golden sweets.

Perhaps because no recipe can recreate the company that surrounded them.

Years passed.

Life became busier.

We lived in different cities.

Yet my cousin never stopped quietly looking after me.

When I was living in the hostel during college, she would often arrive

carrying packets of my favorite Milk Bikis.

I would laugh.

"I'm not a little girl anymore."

She never seemed convinced.

And perhaps she was right.

Even today, I still enjoy Milk Bikis with my morning tea or coffee.

Some part of that little girl survived every twist and turn life placed before her.

Sometimes, all it takes is one Gulab Jamun to remember an afternoon filled with laughter...

a pair of well-bargained Kolhapuri sandals...

and a cousin who never looked at the outfit first.

She looked at the happiness on my face.

"Some shopping trips end with full bags. The best ones end with fuller hearts.”