(A fleeting story that never really ends)

My Dad,

He’s my movie date, my personal chef, my therapist in an apron.

My morning alarm and my midnight “you’re still not home?” reminder.

My favourite human — and my most dramatic WhatsApp updater when I’m traveling.

He loves to talk —

And somehow every conversation circles back to the golden age of his going-out days,

when a full meal would cost a dollar and everything tasted better because there were no food delivery apps.

And I listen. Mostly. Lovingly. With the occasional “Yeah yeah, I’m listening…” while I scroll.

He’s funny in a very cute-dad-way — the kind that makes me laugh when I shouldn’t.

He cooks like he’s feeding a full house, even when I say “just something light.”

Plates multiply. Flavours collide. And there’s always one more thing on the stove.

And still, he asks, “You didn’t eat properly?”

His love language has always been food — loud, generous, and lovingly over-the-top.

He waits for me to come back from everywhere.

From the office. From vacation. From life.

Dinner doesn’t feel like dinner till I’m home.

And when I am home, he’ll quietly get up at 6am to make me lunch, like it’s a tiny ceremony.

He can binge-watch shows like a college student and fall asleep in literally any position.

Sitting. Talking. Mid-sentence. He’ll be out like a light.

And somehow it makes me love him more.

When we lost mom, we stitched the silence with each other’s presence.

No speeches. No breakdowns. Just soft, steady survival.

He’s health-conscious in the most adorable way —

“No fried stuff tonight,” he’ll say, and then happily eat the pizza I order — smiling, enjoying. 😄

He’s resilient in ways I don’t know how to describe.

Not just strong — but full of this steady, gentle self-love that makes me want to be more like him.

He’s my sunshine.

My strength.

And my home.

People talk about soulmates like they’re someone you’ll meet one day.

I was born into mine. 💖

And this one’s a keeper for sure.