On the last day of the O’level national exam, I was happier than I had ever been in all three years of high school. Didi, my then best friend, looked at me and said, “I hope we meet at Hogwarts”. We chuckled at that. It was days long before I became an accountant and her, a pharmacist. 

Hogwarts was and still is our secret language, our joy, our hope. We could meet at Rafiki sports ground and spend an entire hour debating on which house best fits each one of us. I’d always choose Gryffindor and she’d insist that I’m a Ravenclaw. 

Life happened, A’level set in with all its shenanigans and I was no longer interested and became a…muggle-as anyone else. When in Uni I met Gary. I don’t remember how the conversation came or went but by him, I reread the series. It revived the young me. I bought all 7 novels of the Harry Potter series and to this day, they are my favorite.

There is a corner coffee shop with mugs in every shade of feeling where I go and read and pretend that I’m Hermione and help Harry fight Lord Voldemort, as I sip strong coffee. It’s a crystallizing moment when, in the middle of crowds, with my headphones listening to the audiobooks, I feel happy and light. 

Today I read the Prisoner of Azbakan. It reminded me of Didi and Gary and everyone who’s still waiting for that Hogwarts letter. I’m thankful for the moments, the stories, the bookmarks, the pens, the scarf and the laughter. 

Don’t let the muggles get you down! ⚡️

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