George Chamoun

George,

There is something I find beautiful about the way we happened.

Your mother stood at the front of a classroom and taught me mathematics before I ever knew she had a son who would become my friend. She was already part of my story before you were. And when you arrived in it, you fit so naturally that it felt less like meeting someone new and more like a continuation of something that had already quietly begun.

That is not a coincidence I take lightly.

Your mother is exceptional. The kind of teacher whose patience and warmth you don't fully appreciate until years later, when you realize how rare it is for someone to genuinely care whether or not a student understands. She shaped something in me. And then I met you, and I understood where that warmth comes from. You are made of the same thing.

But let me tell you what I will remember most.

You made me laugh, George. Genuinely, fully, the kind of laughter that catches you off guard and leaves you slightly embarrassed by how hard you went. You have a humor that is entirely your own, sharp and warm at the same time, the kind that makes a room feel lighter without trying. Being around you is easy in the best way. You never made friendship feel like an obligation. You just made it feel like a good time that happened to go deep when it needed to.

Not everyone can do both. You do it without thinking about it.

Thank you for the laughs. Thank you for the friendship. And please tell your mother that her student turned out alright and is forever thankful for her.

With love,

Elia