The Rooftop. The Walkman. The Wave.

There’s a moment in your life that never leaves you. Not because it was dramatic. Because it was true.

I was in high school. He was just starting college — his name was Shh..(Mr.X) and he was going to become an engineer. But before that, before any of it, he was the first person who really saw me.

We had met in India. Not through romance or chance — through a positive environment where I first saw freedom. I saw women in flip flops wearing saris. I saw women riding motorbikes. I saw possibility. And in that space, I saw him see me. My mind. The way I talked. The way I solved problems. He recharged my energy just by being there.

Then life moved. We became pen pals. Distance became normal.

But there was one morning I will never forget.

My mom was driving me to school. Early. The kind of early where the world is still quiet, still yours. And I looked up — and there he was. On a rooftop. Wearing headphones. Listening to his Walkman.

He didn’t need to be there.

But he made an effort to be there. Early. Waiting. Just to wave at me. Just to put a smile on my face so I could have a good day.

That wave meant: I see you. I’m thinking of you. Go be brilliant today.

That’s the moment. That’s the spark.

That rooftop is where Cheekyda was born.

Because what I learned that morning — what I’ve spent decades understanding — is this:

Being seen changes everything.

Not in the loud, romantic way. In the quiet, consistent way. Someone noticing your mind. Someone making an effort when they didn’t have to. Someone waving you forward into your day with genuine care.

That’s what Cheekyda is.

It’s the woman you were before the world told you to shrink. It’s the version of yourself that was seen — really seen — and knew she was enough. It’s the energy you had when someone believed in your mind, your creativity, your way of solving problems.

Mr. X saw that girl. And she was electric.

But somewhere along the way, most of us lose her. Life gets heavy. Responsibilities pile up. We make ourselves smaller because it’s easier, because it’s expected, because no one’s waving from a rooftop anymore.

Cheekyda is your permission slip to find her again.

To remember that you were seen once. That you can be seen again. That the woman who talked brilliantly, who solved problems nobody else could see, who had a spark that made people want to show up early just to catch her smile — she’s still there.

You just have to remember what it felt like.

That rooftop. That wave. That smile.

That’s Dame Amore. That’s you.

And that’s Cheekyda.