We realised in grad school that dissertations do not get written alone, or on whims. Perhaps they do for some but for the rest of us, who sought one another at the university to remain afloat, our dissertations were written in the embrace of each other’s unconditional love and warmth. Often holding accountable to writing routines. It could be any time of the day. For me and the people I wrote with, it was the mornings. I allowed myself the luxury to go to a coffee shop – hot black coffee for winter months, and a cold brew with oat milk the rest of the year. One cup of coffee, the most we could afford on the daily, lasted us three to four hours. We often took different tables at the cafe. Each table – and the coffee we ordered – said a lot about each of us too. Hany took the solid rectangular table from where he had a confident view of the entire cafe. I took the small table with barely any space for more than a laptop, my back touching the end wall of the cafe. I could see everything and everyone but hoped the world couldn’t spot me. Ishita liked the long windows, she needed to see the sunrays, or the snowflakes, when they arrived. Essam did not care and would sit wherever he got a seat.Illustration: Pariplab ChakrabortyWe took breaks, had pomodoros sometimes, cracking self-deprecating jokes and boosting each other’s morale. On good days, we were thrilled to have written a few paragraphs which made us love the work. On bad days, we sighed, chatted, cried and bought ourselves a sandwich. Over the years, despite varying disciplines and departments, we learnt much about each other and our work. On rare occasions, we even managed to suggest reading recommendations to one another. No matter what the discipline, there are always tricks of the trade to share with one another – when to write from the writer’s soft, dreamy heart; when from the editor’s stern voice; how to sleep, swim, dance, walk through writer’s blocks; ways to navigate real and imagined deadlines; how much to read and when to stop; how to be gracious with one’s knowing and unknowing. It is friends in universities after all who sail you through the moving and unmoving parts of everyday life. Writing with friends can hardly be contained within the routines. Our lives are interwoven in all the ways possible, especially as we draw sustenance from one another in homes far away from our homelands. We cooked together, we gathered together every instance we got outside of work. Sometimes, we bought one another lunch and drinks. Went for ‘Bolly-hop’ classes only to cringe on our dance moves. Those who can swim enjoyed the swimming pool. Others had endless cups of chai together. We spent as much time in each others’ spaces as we spend in ours.We saw each other through heartbreaks, department issues, deadlines, career uncertainties, and longings for home and loved ones. These conversations every now and then touched our writing. And writing, I then realised, was crucially dependent on our survival and sustenance. I am back home now, in a small town in central India. Home is always promising, to say the least. There is quiet familiarity, comfort and amazing food. I also have my partner here, and the cats. Friends, downstairs, and several neighbours. Family lives close by, too.Yet, what I wouldn’t do to bring all my university friends to my home town. We would make our own makeshift bars and cafes. Write in, write away. Gather and cook. Eat, drink, cry, love, laugh, and then write more.Shuchi is an educator-researcher.We’ve grown up hearing that “it’s the small things” that matter. That’s true, of course, but it’s also not – there are Big Things that we know matter, and that we shouldn’t take our eyes, minds or hearts off of. As journalists, we spend most of our time looking at those Big Things, trying to understand them, break them down, and bring them to you.And now we’re looking to you to also think about the small things – the joy that comes from a strangers’ kindness, incidents that leave you feeling warm, an unexpected conversation that made you happy, finding spaces of solidarity. Write to us about your small things at thewiresmallthings@gmail.com in 800 words or less, and we will publish selected submissions. We look forward to reading about your experiences, because even small things can bring big joys.Read the series here.