CS student by day. Builder of things by night. Fuelled by the urge to be better, guided by intuition, and always chasing the next idea worth creating.
I'm Shivam Vaid — a first-year CS student with a builder's soul and a restless mind. I'm the kind of person who's thinking three moves ahead while still figuring out what today's move is.
I code, I write, I guide, I eat really good food. I believe life should be explored — whether that's a new city's street food or a new idea at 2am that you just have to build.
I'm also building Shivam Speaks — a YouTube channel about self-improvement, the CS journey, and what it actually feels like to become something.
Also, I eat like it's a competitive sport. Chole bhature, Maggi at 1am, rajma chawal on Sundays. If you ever want restaurant recommendations more than you want code reviews, I'm your guy.
There are moments in life that don't leave, they simply change form. We often think nostalgia belongs to love we couldn't hold onto. A person who stayed just long enough to become a memory.
But with time, I've realized that nostalgia is far more intricate than that. It is not confined to one person, one story, or one chapter. It lives in everything we've ever cared about.
It lives in voices we can no longer hear, in laughter that once filled rooms now quiet, and in people who were never meant to leave so soon. Some relationships don't end with distance, they end with silence.
Permanent, irreversible silence. Blood relations, family, people who shaped parts of us without ever realizing it… they leave behind something heavier than absence.
They leave behind unfinished conversations, unfulfilled promises, and moments we assumed we would always have time for. And that's where nostalgia becomes something deeper.
It's not just remembering what happened—it's feeling what never got the chance to happen. The "I'll tell you later." The "We'll do it next time."
The plans that quietly dissolved into time without warning. Those incomplete promises don't disappear. They linger. They echo in the smallest things, a place, a smell, a song, a random afternoon.
And suddenly, the past doesn't feel like the past anymore. It feels present, almost within reach, yet impossibly far. But maybe that's the paradox of memory.
People leave, moments pass, and time moves forward without asking. Yet memories, those stubborn, beautiful fragments refuse to follow the same rules.
They stay. Not as something to hold us back, but as something that shapes who we become. Because in the end, nostalgia isn't just about loss.
It's about love that didn't get a proper ending. And maybe… it never needed one.
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