I was born in Washington Heights, and my family lived there until I was four. When we lived there, my parents were friends with a couple who had a daughter the same age as me. She was one of my first friends, and our parents still have old photographs of us taking baths together or going to the playground together.

While in Washington Heights, our families often ate at an Indian restaurant in the neighborhood called Kismat. We went there so often that the owners knew us, and we were always greeted with a warm welcome.

As I grew up, life continued. My family moved to the suburbs in Westchester when I began elementary school. A few years later, my childhood friend and her family drifted to Long Island. We saw each other once in a while, but for the most part, we lost touch.

I decided to go to the Macaulay Honors College at City College just over a year ago. At an accepted students event, I ran into my childhood friend again. We and our parents spent the event catching up, making up for lost time after all those years. My friend was trying to decide between Macaulay and University of Vermont, but ultimately decided to come here.

Today, Sabrina and I are best friends. We often go to the little Indian restaurant across the street from City College for lunch. It’s called Clove, and it opened just over a year ago – right around the time we both decided to go to school here. It’s owned by the same woman who owned Kismat, and whenever we see her in the restaurant, she checks in with us and asks how our families are.

When I think about all the coincidences that led me, Sabrina, and Kismat to drift apart and then reconnect again, I think that somehow, in this city of 8.4 million people, this is the exact place I’m meant to be. It’s no wonder that the word kismat means fate.

Sarah D.