And before you say anything — NO, I didn’t do it deliberately this time either. Like always.

I hit a car.

YES. AGAIN. 😭

I was about to open my door, swung it open, and didn’t see the car beside me.

And this time, I barely touched it. Like… TINY. You probably wouldn’t even notice it.

But of course… I was caught red-handed. AGAIN.

The guy was sitting in the driver’s seat when he heard the thud.

He didn’t jump out.

He jumped across the car — from the driver’s seat to the other side — to inspect the damage.

My husband got out, saw the man’s stare, looked at me…

He knew.

Immediately.

He apologized.

So I apologized too.

The guy asked, “Any scratch or something?”

My husband: “No, no. It’s absolutely fine. Like brand new.”

I almost died. 🤣

Brother… respectfully… you haven’t washed this car since the invention of soap. You can’t even see its actual colour.

And my husband is standing there like:

“Like brand new.”

WOW.

This man really knows how to protect his wife.

Anyway, we went into Walmart like absolutely nothing happened.

Five seconds later, my husband:

“How many times are you going to do that?”

Me: “Well… why didn’t you park where there was no one? There were empty spots.”

He looked at me.

“Oh yes. Next time I’ll bring a microphone and announce:

‘ATTENTION EVERYONE. My wife is coming. Please empty the entire parking lot if you don’t want any damage to your car.’”

Me:……

“Actually… next time, you can just come open the door for me. That would solve the problem.”

Husband: 😶

Me: Problem solved.

Almost everything we do seems to come from this need to prove something to someone.
Prove that we're successful.
Prove that we're happy.
Prove that we made the right choices.
Prove something to the world.

But does the world actually care?
No.
Absolutely not.
And yet, we keep proving ourselves until our last breath.

I have to wake up early to go to work.
Drop the kids off.
Buy groceries.
Come home.
Take care of the house.
And it never really stops.

The chilling happens on weekends.
That's why weekends are the GOAT….

We're tired all day, every day, and then finally we go to sleep.
For a decent number of hours, we forget about the world.
And then suddenly—
We wake up.
And the whole world comes rushing back to us as if it had never disappeared.

Then there's love.
For the sake of this so-called love, we let our hearts break several million times until we hopefully find the right person to spend our lives with.

And then we spend all those days, all those years,
somehow just surviving.
Until one day, the last day comes.
And maybe that's when we regret almost every decision we made.

Maybe we think:
I forgot to live.
I was so busy worrying about what people would think.
So busy trying to be enough.
So busy chasing things I thought I needed.
So busy surviving that I forgot there was supposed to be a life somewhere in between all of this.

And then suddenly, it's almost over.
All the worries we spent our entire lives carrying?
Gone.

So what was the point of living life entirely for other people?
Do what you need to do.
Do what makes sense.
But also…..
Do what you want.

Laugh more.
Take the trip.
Wear the stupid outfit.
Call that person.
Sit in the sun for no reason.
Waste an afternoon.
Dance badly.
Say no.
Say yes.
Stop waiting for the "right time."
Because maybe the right time was never going to arrive.

Maybe this is it.
Maybe this messy, exhausting, beautiful, ridiculous life is the only chance we get to actually live.

So for once….
don't just survive it.
Live it. 🫰

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A person insulted me years ago.

I don’t even remember what they look like anymore.

But somehow…

My mind still remembers exactly what they said.

Isn’t that strange?

How can someone who no longer exists in my life still have the power to disturb my peace today?

As a specialist in overthinking (which, let’s be honest, I think most of us are), I’ve spent years living everywhere except here.

One minute, I’d be replaying an argument from years ago.

The next, I’d be imagining a conversation that hadn’t even happened yet.

Sometimes it was an insult.

Sometimes it was a compliment.

Sometimes it was that one embarrassing thing I did years ago that nobody else probably remembers…

except my mind.

What bothered me wasn’t the memories themselves.

It was the fact that something that happened years ago could still disturb my peace today.

Why?

How does a sentence spoken years ago still have the power to ruin a perfectly normal afternoon in 2026?

And more importantly…

Will I spend the rest of my life like this?

I wasn’t trying to become enlightened.

I just wanted my own mind to leave me alone.

Curiosity has always been my default setting. So instead of accepting that “this is just how life is,” I started searching for answers.

I searched the internet.

I watched videos.

I read books.

Every answer explained what overthinking was.

Very few explained why it felt so impossible to escape.

Eventually, my search drifted toward spirituality—not because I was looking for a new religion, but because I had run out of places to look.

I was born into a Sikh family, so spirituality was always around me.
Like many children, I followed prayers without fully understanding their meaning.
Growing up in India also meant being surrounded by different faiths, so I was familiar with stories from Hinduism too.

Then, about three years ago, I came across a podcast about Lord Shiva.

One video became another.

Then another.

Ironically, the same algorithm that usually traps us in endless scrolling became the thing that introduced me to an idea I had never seriously considered before.

One verse stopped me in my tracks:

“न मृत्युर्न शंका न मे जातिभेदः।
पिता नैव मे नैव माता न जन्म।
न बन्धुर्न मित्रं गुरुर्नैव शिष्यः।
चिदानन्दरूपः शिवोऽहम् शिवोऽहम्॥”

When I searched for its meaning, I was stunned.

It wasn’t describing God as someone sitting somewhere in the universe.

It was pointing toward something completely different:

“I am not the body. I am not birth or death. I am pure consciousness.”

That one word stayed with me.

Consciousness.

I’d heard it before.

But I had never really asked what it meant.

So I did what I always do.

I Googled it.

The answers felt… incomplete.

So I asked my best friend—ChatGPT.

At first, the explanations sounded like every article on the internet.

Then I kept asking.

“What does consciousness mean spiritually?”

“What is awareness?”

“If I’m not my thoughts… then who am I?”

Somewhere during those conversations, I came across an idea often associated with the Buddha:

Don’t try to stop your thoughts.

Instead…

Find out who is aware of them.

That sounded almost ridiculous.

Who am I?

Obviously, I knew who I was.
My name.
My family.
My story.

But that wasn’t the question.

The real question was:

Who am I before all of those labels?

Later, I heard a story attributed to the Buddha.

Someone asked him who was closest to them.

“You,” the person replied.

“No.”

“The air?”

“Closer.”

“My breath?”

“Closer.”

“My heartbeat?”

“Closer still.”

The person had no answer.

Neither did I.

Because I had spent my entire life looking at my thoughts.

I had never stopped to ask…

Who is the one that’s aware of them?

That single question sent me down a rabbit hole that I’m still exploring.

I’m not writing this because I’ve found the answer.

I’m writing this because asking the question has already changed the way I see my mind.

Maybe the goal isn’t to win the battle against our thoughts.

Maybe the real journey begins the moment we stop asking,

“How do I stop thinking?”

…and start asking,

“Who is the one that’s aware of the thinking?”

I still don’t know the answer.

But now, whenever my mind drags me into the past or throws me into an imaginary future, another question quietly appears.

Is this really me...

...or is it just my mind?

We’ve become really good at living other people’s lives.

Apps like Instagram, YouTube, TikTok, and countless others connect us with people from every corner of the world. Even though we don’t know them personally, we watch their decisions, opinions, lifestyles, and lives in fragments.

And slowly, without even realizing it, we begin absorbing things from them — convincing ourselves that what worked for them will work for us too.

• But what worked for someone else might not work for you.

• And what failed for someone else might be exactly what you need.

The Red Flag Problem

Take something as simple—and as loud—as “red flags” and “green flags.”

“He’s not paying attention to you — red flag.”
“He has opinions about what you wear — red flag.”
“He’s a mama’s boy — red flag.”|
“He’s always asking where you are — red flag.”

But real life doesn’t exist in isolation.

The same person might be deeply focused on building his future. He might have opinions because he genuinely cares. He might be close to his mother because he values family. He might ask where you are because he’s anxious, not controlling.

Context changes everything.

Yet nobody pauses long enough to understand that context. The label has already been applied.

And this isn’t just about him. It works the other way too — she can be labeled just as fast. Any person, any relationship, any dynamic. The checklist doesn’t discriminate.

Then come the green flags.

If he does this, he’s perfect. If she does that, she’s emotionally safe. And suddenly we start building entire expectations around lists we never created ourselves.

Imagine you’re in a relationship and during an argument, your partner does something you’ve heard described online as a red flag. Without looking at your history together, without considering who they are as a person, your brain immediately starts questioning everything.

Is this wrong? Is this unhealthy? Is this proof we’re not meant to be together?

Sometimes the checklist you borrowed from strangers becomes louder than the reality you’re actually living.

The Success Formula Trap

And this doesn’t stop at relationships.
Look at success.

We hear stories of people who made it
their routines,
their discipline,
their habits,
their “10 rules that changed my life.”

We get inspired. Then we try to become them.

But nobody’s life is built from the same blueprint.

No one has your exact struggles. Your timing. Your environment. Your opportunities. Your starting point.

• One person thrives waking up at 4am. Another burns out trying to copy them.

• One person succeeds by taking risks. Another succeeds by being patient.

• One person needs structure. Another needs freedom.

• One person drops out of college and builds an empire. Another needs every qualification to feel grounded enough to begin.

You can follow someone’s routine perfectly and still feel like something isn’t clicking. Not because you’re failing. But because you’re trying to live a life that wasn’t designed for you.

Even twins raised in the same home don’t live identical lives.

So how could one framework possibly fit everyone?

My Manifestation Problem

And then there’s manifestation.

Say your affirmations. Visualize what you want. Think about it every morning and every night. And the universe will deliver.

I’ve tried it. Genuinely.

And honestly? The more desperately I wanted something, the further away it seemed to get.

What actually worked for me was the opposite — letting go. Not chasing. Not forcing. Just releasing my grip on the outcome and trusting the process. That’s when things started showing up.

But here’s where I have to stop myself.

Because I refuse to generalize that experience too.

I’m not going to tell you that letting go is the secret and manifestation is a lie — because that would make me guilty of the exact thing this entire article is about.

Maybe manifestation works beautifully for you. Maybe your mind operates differently. Maybe your path requires that intentional focus.

Only you know that. Not me. Not the internet.

The Question Nobody Asks

Generalizing feels safe.
It gives us structure.
It gives us certainty.
It gives us answers.

But it also quietly takes away our ability to think for ourselves.

So before you label something…
Before you copy something…
Before you let someone else’s story override your own experience…

Pause.

Ask yourself one simple question:

Is this actually my understanding… or just someone else’s conclusion that I borrowed?

Learn from people. Listen to people. Be inspired by people.

Just don’t hand them the steering wheel of your life.

Think better. Live yours.

Nobody teaches you how to react.

And life doesn’t wait for you to figure it out.

Like any journey on a train, a bus, a plane — you don’t get to choose who’s sitting next to you. You don’t get to pick who walks into your life, stays for a while, and leaves you either completely transformed or completely wrecked. Sometimes both. And the worst part? You never see it coming.

I always had a checklist. Unspoken, invisible — but very much real. Be honest. Be humble. Be respectful. Simple things. Human things. And every time someone couldn’t meet those basics, I wouldn’t just get hurt — I’d get consumed.

Why would they speak to me like that?

Why is basic decency so easy for me and so hard for them?

What did I do to deserve this version of them?

Here’s the thing about me — I have a photographic memory. Word for word, tone for tone, the exact pause before someone said something cruel — I remember all of it. I’d lie awake replaying conversations that the other person had probably forgotten by morning. Living in a loop they didn’t even know they’d trapped me in. That’s the quiet cruelty of a memory like mine. The fight ends. The person moves on. And I’m still there, stuck in the moment, cross-examining ghosts.

I carried that for a long time.

The why me. The but I would never.

Just that. On repeat. For years with some people. Months with others. The grudge always outlasted the relationship.

And then — somewhere between exhaustion and an unexpected moment of stillness — something shifted.

People are going to be exactly who they are. Their patterns, their sharpness, their carelessness — that’s years of their own life I wasn’t part of. It’s not personal, even when it feels devastatingly personal. And no amount of my frustration or my completely valid checklist is going to rewrite who they fundamentally are.

The only person I actually have any control over is me.

I can choose how much space I give something. I can choose to stop replaying. I can choose to look at someone’s behaviour as their pattern — their story — and not a verdict on my worth.

I won’t dress this up as an awakening. Maybe next week I’ll be back at midnight replaying something from 2019. That’s honest. But right now I feel this clearly enough to write it down…. which is the closest thing to claiming it that I know how to do.

So to all the people I have hated before —

I’m not thanking you for the hurt. Don’t flatter yourself.

But somewhere on the other side of all that anger I found something I didn’t expect. I found the exact shape of what I will not carry anymore.

And that — quietly, finally — is enough.

As if it’s waiting somewhere ahead of us, arms crossed, saying:

“Come back when you’re successful.”
“Come back when you earn more.”
“Come back when someone loves you.”

Growing up, I heard all the versions.

You’ll be happy
when you become successful.
When you make more money.
When you find the love of your life.
Or better – when you no longer need anyone at all.

They say strong people eat alone.
They say peace comes from meditation.
They say inner calm leads to happiness.

And every time I heard a new definition, I nodded.

Yes, that makes sense.
Of course success brings happiness.
Of course money makes life easier.

And then someone whispers, “Money can’t buy happiness.”

And suddenly that makes sense too.

Every quote sounds right.
Every perspective feels true.
And yet… none of them feel complete.

After listening to all of it, I realized something uncomfortable:

Maybe happiness isn’t a permanent state.
Maybe it isn’t something you “achieve.”
Maybe it’s not even something you “have.”

Maybe sadness is the constant.

Life, in its raw form, is full of pressure, longing, comparison, unfinished goals, responsibilities. Sadness isn’t dramatic—it’s just present. It hums quietly in the background.

And happiness?
Happiness is what happens when that sadness is interrupted.

It slips in when, for a moment, you get to do what your heart genuinely wants to do.

Not what looks impressive.
Not what earns applause.
Not what proves your worth.

Just what feels right to you.

The strange thing is – when you’re doing what you truly want, even briefly, you don’t question happiness. You don’t analyze it. You don’t debate philosophy.

You just feel… light.

And when you can’t do what you long to do – because of circumstances, responsibilities, fear, or whatever name we give it – that’s when happiness feels distant.

Not because you lack success.
Not because you lack money.
Not because you lack love.

But because you lack alignment.
So maybe happiness has nothing to do with achievements or bank balances.
Maybe it lives in the small, honest moments when your actions match your heart.

That’s my definition.

Yours might be different—and that’s okay.

The mistake we make is trying to universalize happiness. We compress it into motivational quotes and pass it around like a formula.

But happiness isn’t a formula.

It’s personal.
It’s specific.
It’s intimate.

Only you know what makes you feel alive. Only you know what quiets your restlessness.

So instead of chasing someone else’s version of happiness, maybe the real work is this:
Figure out what it means for you.

And let it exist in your life in its own way – even if no quote agrees.

We spend a lifetime trying to understand people.

Some, we understand early.
Some, never.
And some are the most confusing kind…..
they look kind, sound decent,
yet slowly drain you.

At first, everything feels warm.
Smiles seem genuine.
Care feels real.
You tell yourself, They’re good people.

You repeat it often
not because it’s true,
but because you want it to be.

Then something shifts.
Quietly.

They don’t say, “You are beneath me.”
They show it.

Through comparisons.
Through sarcasm disguised as jokes.
Through reminders of what they own,
what they afford,
what you should admire.

And then comes the help.

Help that isn’t just help.
Help that slowly becomes permission
permission to look down on you,
to speak to you a certain way,
to expect obedience.

Because they helped you once.

They don’t want gratitude.
They want submission.

Good people try to ignore it.

They excuse the tone.
They justify the behavior.
They say it’s okay. They’ll change.
Hope becomes their weakness.

But some people…like me…can’t live that way.

Not because we are ungrateful.
Not because we won’t show up.

I will help you when you need me.
I will stand by you without keeping score.

But I will not trade my self-respect
to repay a favor.

That kind of help isn’t generosity
It’s a leash.

They don’t want equality.
They want someone who always says yes.
Someone who bends.
Someone who stays quiet.

Some people accept that.
Some people can’t … and shouldn’t.

Because if you stay too long,
you don’t just lose your voice,
you lose yourself.

So sometimes, the kindest thing you can do
is walk away early.

Not out of ego.
Out of self-preservation.

Be “unkind” once
so you don’t lose your kindness forever.

Otherwise, one day,
you’ll find yourself exhausted,
angry at the wrong people,
quietly dying inside.

And all you’ll be left with
is a line like this:

“What I swallowed to keep the peace ended up eating me alive.”

Why am I not writing these days?

Honestly… I don’t know.

It’s not like I don’t have ideas. I do.

And it’s not like I never wanted to write again. I did.

A few months ago, I was writing every single day.

And now—nothing.

Well, almost nothing.

I still write Notes on Substack, and I love them. They’re my favourite thing.

Short. Random. Annoying. Jokes. Thoughts. Sometimes hilarious.

I say what I want to say and move on.

That kind of writing still feels easy. Natural. Like breathing.

But the novel?

I haven’t touched it in months.

Medium?

This entire month, I barely wrote anything.

Why?

I wish I knew.

For a while, I blamed being busy.

There were weddings. Moving houses. Life doing life things.

And that explanation made sense then.

But now?

I’m still busy—but not that busy.

I’m not deeply indulged in anything else either.

Yet, I still don’t write.

People haven’t stopped hurting me—let’s be clear about that.

They never will. People are very consistent that way.

But maybe… I’m less bothered now.

Earlier, my writing came from yelling.

From frustration. From “why is the world like this?”

The world hasn’t changed.

But maybe my reaction to it has.

I don’t spiral the way I used to.

I don’t sit and replay the same pain again and again.

Overthinking is still there….of course it is.

But the urge to pour it out into words isn’t.

And then there’s this other thing about me.

I get bored easily.

I start things with intensity.

I give them everything I have.

And then…..interest fades.

That’s just who I am.

So maybe writing is going through that phase too.

Or maybe I’m done.

Or maybe I’m not.

I honestly don’t know.

Another possibility?

Maybe writing stopped feeling urgent because it isn’t giving me anything tangible right now.

No outcome. No result. No reward.

And that could matter more than I want to admit.

As for the rest…

I’m fine.

Am I at peace?

Maybe yes. Maybe no.

I’m confused—as usual.

This post is for Substack.

Or maybe I will cross post on Medium.

Or maybe nowhere.

I don’t know that either 🥲

And if you’re reading this thinking,

“What is she even trying to say?”

I want to tell you something……

I don’t know what I’m talking about either.

So if you have time…

You can tell me.

What do you think is wrong?

Thank you.

Bless you.

I am not joking. Not exaggerating.
I was very close to dying yesterday.

It was January 1st, 2026. My husband and I decided to start the year the way we believe in….by remembering God. We don’t restrict our faith to one place. We visit both the Gurudwara and the Mandir, because belief, for us, is bigger than labels.

So around 3 PM, we left home with our son.

As expected, there was heavy traffic. It was New Year’s Day, and even in Canada, temples and gurudwaras were crowded with people seeking blessings. Still, everything felt normal. Calm. Grateful.

We reached the Gurudwara, took blessings, and then headed toward the Mandir. What surprised us was how easily things fell into place. Usually, you wait for hours just to park…. but that day, somehow, we found a parking spot within minutes. It felt… smooth. Almost miraculous.

We attended the prayers, listened to the bhajans, and left feeling light. Happy. Complete.

On the way back, we decided to pick up pizza. Nothing fancy. Just a simple plan on a cold day. It wasn’t snowing, thankfully. The roads looked fine. We weren’t on a highway—just a normal road. The speed was average. My husband and I were talking about something ordinary… something we don’t even remember now.

And then—within seconds—everything changed.

The car skidded.

Black ice, maybe. I still don’t know.

What I do know is that we lost control and slid up onto a huge mountain of snow—the kind the city collects on the side of the road after clearing streets.

There was no time to react.

My glasses flew off. I was thrown forward. My head hit hard. I looked straight at my son in his car seat….he was saved. His nose brushed something, that’s all. My husband was frozen, trying to understand what had just happened.

Cars were passing by.

Any slight movement to the other side, any small angle difference – and this story would not be written today.

The car was badly damaged.

But we were untouched.
No serious injuries.
No blood.
Nothing.

We survived.

And what shook me the most was this:

I’ve always imagined emergencies. I thought I’d react instantly. Protect my child. Do something brave. Something heroic.

But when it actually happened?

There was no time to think.
No plan.
No action.

All those imagined reactions vanished in seconds.

We weren’t saved because we were prepared.
We were saved because something else absorbed the impact.

The car did.
Timing did.
Luck did.
God did—call it what you want.

That illusion shattered.

A friend of my husband happened to pass by at that exact time. (Divine timing again) He stayed with us, helped us, and dropped us home safely. A stranger turning into support when we needed it most. May God bless him abundantly.

All night yesterday, one thought has followed me:

What if we had landed just a little differently?
What if the car had slid a few inches the other way?
Could this really have ended everything?

Yes. All these thoughts……..

Life doesn’t announce its turning points.
Goodbyes don’t always come with warnings.
Control is mostly an illusion.

One moment, you’re planning pizza.
The next, you’re wondering if this is the end.

I cried – just a little. Happy tears. Grateful tears. The kind that come when you realize you were spared.

I believe in God. But yesterday, I saw that belief standing right in front of me.

We were saved. Barely. Completely. Fully.

So if there’s one thing I want to say after surviving the first day of 2026, it’s this:

Live fully.
Stay humble.
Never assume you have time.
And always thank God – or life, or the universe – every time you reach home safely.

Because nothing is promised.
Not even tomorrow.

Thank you for reading. 🙏

Nor is its journey ever kind.

Centuries may pass in trying to understand it,

Yet what eludes our grasp… that alone is love.

In love,

I do not seek my own joy,

But the light in your eyes,

The peace in your heart.

I once heard love is a bargain,

Divided into two halves…

But true love flows unshared,

Whole, relentless, unbound.

No mortal can fathom it,

No mortal ever will…

Its depth is a secret of the divine.

It may destroy you utterly,

Or lift you to heights unseen…

Love is never gentle;

It tests, it burns, it awakens.

You are the morning, the night,

The God above, and yet, you are me.

When I cease to exist,

Yet find you still…

Then, at last, love is free.

Love cannot be measured,

It flows like water,

Unthinking, unstoppable,

Carving its path wherever it wills.

It has no form, no color of its own…

Yet once it chooses a heart,

It belongs to them forever.

I believe…

That love is mercy,

A blessing from the divine.

That happened to me today.

No context.
No expectations. Something played on my screen—and it pulled a poem out of me I didn’t even know I had inside.

Photo by Natalia Sobolivska on Unsplash

🔥The Poem🔥

Set your lips on mine,let them rest where they belong.
tell me now…..what are you to me?
who are you becoming?
Let yourself Break a little, fall apart in my arms…..
only in my arms…
only for now.

These moments, soaked in your touch,
in your warmth and breath..Pull me under….Like I’ve been thirsty for years
And you’re the only water I know.

The way you move,The way you breathe against my skin ….Your little temptations, your soft mistakes….They make these moments feel
more alive than anything I’ve lived.

Drop your shyness tonight
Come to me the way my heartbeat runs to you.Lose yourself completely….
in my nights,
Let the dark listen to us.

set your lips on mine again…Tell me what you’ve become to me now.

In your emotions
your scented breathsthis smell of sandalwood is driving me crazy

In the shelter of your heart,
in these scattered sighs…….a soft longing has developed…
to fall asleep right against your chest.

Hide your face in my shoulder,Let me hear your heartbeat…..Fast, reckless, real.Look at yourself once…
In my eyes,
In the fire of my eyes.

Now the reveal…

Okay.
I know.

You’re shocked reading something like this from me.

🤣 Same.

But here’s the truth:
This is actually my English version of a Hindi song – a song I already loved, but after watching a certain dance performance on it… I fell for it even harder.

It honestly blew my mind, and I felt like I had to share it with you.

And no 🤣 – they’re not my relatives, not my friends, not anyone I’m promoting.

I just genuinely loved the performance.

Don’t worry if you don’t understand Hindi; you’re still going to feel it. I can promise you that.

Watch it…
and don’t forget to drop your thoughts in the comments, okayzzz?

I’m sharing the video link below.

My lips brushed her ear, and she jolted, dropping the keys she’d been clutching. I already knew the storm heading my way.

Zara: trembling, voice sharp “What the hell are you doing? Do you still think we’re kids?”

I pouted. Yes.

She rolled her eyes the same way she always did. God, she looked unbearably cute – defiant, furious, alive.

Zara: “Even if we were kids, you can’t do this! We’re seeing each other after years… how can you act like those years never existed?”

Her voice rose, her big eyes blazing. My heart skipped, stalled, then raced again. She shoved me lightly, her hands trembling, her heat burning through every word.

I stepped closer. She instinctively stepped back. A few steps later, her back met the wall—her head nearly hitting it. I caught it just in time, my hand bracing her. Our noses nearly touched.

She froze, mouth parted, eyes wide, shaking. I stepped back slightly, letting the tension linger. Then, almost on instinct, I cupped her face.

Sam: “Come on. Stop pretending I’m a stranger, like some random guy. You already know how I feel. And I know you never really had a boyfriend all these years.”

Her expression shifted. She pushed me, frowning, breath ragged.

Zara: “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You disappeared… vanished… without explaining. And now you come back, acting like nothing happened. Like years didn’t exist… like I’m some enemy in front of me! And about that… boyfriend thing – you have nothing to do with it!”

She yelled, a torrent of fire spilling out. But for me, time slowed. Every gesture, every blink, every tremor of her hand hung in the air.

I traced the line from her lips… to her eyes… back to her lips.

I reached for her hand, leaned in slightly. Our breaths mingled, electric. For a heartbeat, nothing else existed. I could have kissed her—but I paused, exhaled, stepped back, letting her fire simmer.

Hand in my pocket, I bent and picked up her keys, tossing them back into her hand…. Without looking at her..

Sam: “Let’s go to the welcome dinner.”

She stood frozen, glued to the wall. Finally, she snatched the keys from me, rolling her eyes, silent. I called after her, low and teasing:

Sam: “Don’t even think about skipping dinner. You know I’m the director – I can make anything happen.”

Her gaze flicked back just slightly, hands in the air, annoyed as always.

Sam (smirking): “Dress terribly… like you always do.”

I caught the middle finger she shot my way. Perfect. I knew she’d try her hardest to look stunning.

Party Night

8:15 pm. The room buzzed with employees welcoming me. But she wasn’t there.

Sam: “Where’s your team leader?”

A voice behind me: “Here I am…”

I turned. There she was. Black mini dress. Off-white sweater draped casually over her shoulders, sleeves knotted at the front. My gaze traveled down her long, flawless legs. Her smile was impeccable – but fake.

Zara: “… welcome, Director.”

I noticed someone whispering into her ear, probably advising overdressing for the dinner. I ignored it.

Dinner, drinks, karaoke, dancing – everything blurred. Then a guy grabbed her hand possessively, pulling her onto the dance floor. My blood ran cold as his hand rested on her waist. She smiled, completely unconcerned, oblivious to my burning gaze.

When he leaned to whisper into her ear, I couldn’t wait. I strode across the room, grabbed her hand, and pulled her aside.

Sam: “We need to talk. Now.”

She froze, eyes wide, heart racing. Her body trembled slightly. Every quiver, every pulse in her hand under mine, every flicker of emotion in her eyes… it hit me like fire.

Her gaze lifted to mine, defiant, exasperated… and even if she didn’t admit it, wanting.

The night was electric. The office, the party, her every movement – all of it collided into one undeniable truth: she had always been mine, in a way only the years apart could make painfully clear.

I tried to make this chapter the ending… but maybe the story isn’t done yet. If you want me to continue, I can write just one more chapter. Let me know what you think in the comments – I’m waiting to hear from you!

My focus kept collapsing back into one place:
him.

Not who he is today.
Who he used to be.

Back when things were simple, stupid, innocent.

The boy who covered my eyes from behind and demanded, I guess.
And somehow, I guessed everyone except him.

Back when I thought he was just annoying.

Then at the school party, he grabbed my wrist, pulled me into the crowd, and placed his hand on my waist like he’d done it a thousand times before.

So casual.
So confident.
So him.

He flirted with half the school, but with me… he interfered. He sabotaged every almost-relationship I had before it even began. I hated him for that. And yet, I relied on him.

We laughed.
I cried.
He comforted me.

And the day the teacher punished everyone who forgot their English book, he slipped his into my hands, like it was nothing, and stood there silently taking the punishment for me.

No explanation.
No drama.

Just… him.

After our exams, we spoke in the corridor like always. I told him I liked someone. His expression changed instantly – like he’d been holding something back for too long.

He stepped closer.
Too close.

“Shh.”
His finger touched my lips.

My heart completely stopped.
“When are you going to realize, Zara?” he whispered.

I can still hear it in my head.

Every syllable.

“You love teasing me,” he said quietly. “Don’t you know what I feel for you all these years?”

For the first time, he looked afraid of his own words.
I throw his hand away, confused, terrified, unprepared.

“What are you talking about, Sam?”

I turned to leave.
And he held my wrist gently – almost pleading.

“I like you.”

And that was the last day I ever saw him.
He vanished.
No explanation.
No goodbye.
Nothing.

The confession became a border we never crossed again.

Today, standing inches from me in that conference room, it was like the universe folded in half and threw everything back at me at once.

AND Why did I pretend not to know him?
Why did I run?
Why am I the one feeling guilty?
None of this was mine to carry.

Everyone left early for the welcome dinner.
I excused myself with a lie, claiming I had to go home.

I didn’t need home.
I needed distance.

When I came back for my car keys, the entire office was empty. The lights were dim, the silence heavier than the building itself.

And then, without warning, an arm slipped around my shoulders.

I froze.
His presence was unmistakable.
He leaned in—slow, deliberate—like time had rewound and he knew exactly where to find me.

His breath brushed my ear first.
Then his lips.
And he whispered,

“You really thought I forgot you, Zar.”

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He didn’t glance at me. Didn’t pause. Just moved forward, like the years between us were nothing.

We used to be inseparable… best friends once. Until everything changed.

Relief and confusion collided in my ribs. Maybe he forgot me. Or maybe he didn’t even recognize me.

I sank into my chair, clutching my notes a little too tightly. The meeting began. Colleagues spoke. Ideas flowed. But my attention was trapped—locked on him. Every step he took echoed through the past, through memories I thought I had buried.

Then Riya said,
“Now our team leader will explain the campaign.”

His gaze lifted—and landed on me.

Time folded in on itself. My brain short-circuited.
“Um… so the advertisement… will show a man walking in… handing a woman… the product…”

My voice trembled. Words fractured. And all the while, he didn’t blink, didn’t look away, didn’t flinch…just kept staring at me like…only I existed.

The meeting ended.

He smiled, approving the idea with the quiet authority he always carried. Relief and something more—something I hadn’t named – rippled through me.

I rose with my team, still lost in my own storm of thoughts, when Riya’s hand pressed on my shoulder.
“Aren’t you listening? The director wants you to stay.”

I was shocked!
Everyone left.
I gulped and turned. My heart was in my mouth…why? God knows.

There he was, standing at the edge of the room, one hand in his pocket, the other relaxed. Waiting. Like the years hadn’t existed.

Before I could take a step forward, he moved. Once. Twice. I stumbled back instinctively.

And suddenly we were face-to-face.

Heat radiated from him before he even spoke.

“Are you done pretending you don’t know me anymore?”

My chest seized. Breath faltered. Files slipped from my hands. My laptop wobbled dangerously.

He caught everything—my work, my hands—and there was that slight, knowing smile. Teasing, familiar, and dangerous in the way only he could be.

For a moment, nothing else existed. Time, work, and professionalism—all gone.

And in that instant, I realized something undeniable: some ghosts don’t wear chains.

They wear suits. And they wait.

And for the first time in years, I realized… I hadn’t forgotten him either.

There are only girls and boys here 😅

And I’m back – ready to make a complete fool of myself. You should be grateful it’s not you.

Girls Are Born Perfect

Let me start with a fact – girls are born perfect.

No debate. No comments. No arguments. 💅

Overthinkers, Stand Up!

Please, stop judging overthinkers. We are literally the best humans on Earth. Someone asks, “Are you an overthinker? Come stand in line.” And we’ll sit there for an hour debating if we should even join the line.

Decisions, people. Priorities.

Memory That Only Works Sometimes

I have a great memory… yeah…. sometimes.

Faces? Forget it. I remember my husband’s words perfectly.

But I once saw a 26-year-old guy at a function when I was 17. He nodded at me like “Sasrikal,” and I ignored him. Big mistake. Turns out, he was my dad’s friend’s son. Next time I met him, I plastered the biggest smile and said “Sasrikal” again… he ignored me like I didn’t exist.

Embarrassment level: 1000/10.

Texting Fails, Anyone?

I have sent messages to the wrong people for years. One time I meant to message my boyfriend… accidentally sent it to my mother. Thank God for WhatsApp’s “delete for everyone” option.

Just the other day, I wanted to message my husband about visiting a new house. “ saying baby! Call him to visit his place!” Instead, I sent the message to the homeowner.

Oh, you can imagine my panic. 🤦‍♀️

Scooty Silencer = Embarrassment Amplifier

Once my scooty started making noises like a bomb on the way to meet my boyfriend. Imagine me, new-ish relationship, trying to impress, and my scooter farting like a firecracker.

Reputation crushed. Mission accomplished.

The Kitchen Time Warp

And don’t get me started on the kitchen. I go in to get something… anything… and forget why I’m there. Every. Single. Time. Infinite loops. And I still call myself having a photographic memory.

Goodbye Looks, Confusion Unlimited

Leaving someone’s house…

Hug? Wave? Smile? Handshake? Nod?

You end up doing all five in five seconds like some malfunctioning robot. And the other person is just as awkward as you!

Mother-in-Law Drama Level: Expert

Four years ago, midnight, just married. My mother-in-law calls us downstairs screaming, “Someone is here! Come quickly!”

We run down, my husband looking for a rod, me ready to fight ghosts…

turns out it was the CCTV recording playing… her doing house chores.

The chaos, the relief, the laughter. She wasn’t embarrassed at all. She even asked, “Who is this uncle?” Legendary.

AND NOW… THE DOG ATTACK STORY 🐕💥( the best one)

How can I forget this one…

I was 16. Going to tuition on my scooty.

And let me say this clearly – my driving skills are amazing. Boys, I see that dirty smile. Don’t even. Girls can drive. 😝

So I’m about to take a turn – smooth, confident, heroine-type turn —

and suddenly, out of nowhere, 4 – 5 street dogs decide to take their turn.

At my exact speed.

At my exact angle.

At 7 am in the morning.

We collided.

Boom.

I went down.

Scooty went down.

The dogs stood there staring at me like I was the villain who ruined their action scene.

People came, helped me lift the scooty, I stood up as fast as I fell – because embarrassment is stronger than pain.

Then came the real fear:

going back home.

My tuition teachers and students were cheering me on like I was going to war.

“Don’t worry, they must have left.”

“They won’t come again.”

“You can do it.”

Yeah right.

I went out, secret-agent mode on – scanning left, right, trees, universe.

Path looked clear.

I started driving.

AND THERE THEY WERE.

Waiting.

Like some revenge gang.

Ready to rip me into pieces.

I screamed, accelerated, and flew from there.

120 speed.

Don’t ask me how I know – I didn’t look.

I just survived, somehow.

Life is chaos.

Embarrassment is my brand.

And somehow, I’m still alive to tell these stories.

And this time, I decided to actually write about it — not just post pictures.

I know, I can be a little dramatic when it comes to birthdays (especially my own 😅).

But hey, as long as I’m not mentally exhausting anyone, I think it’s fine.

The Day: October 23rd

Till I turned 16, my birthdays were just… normal.

No grand excitement, no confetti-level happiness — just the usual cake, a few gifts, and moving on.

That was until he entered my life — my husband.

He celebrates my birthday like he just won a 100-million-dollar lottery. Every. Single. Year.

And yes, I know I talk about him a lot. Don’t roll your eyes — you’ll find your person too. Just chill. 😄

He starts wishing me “Happy Birthday!” almost 10 days before the actual day.

Every day, without fail.

He even dresses up like he’s heading to a party… while I’m still in my pajamas.

Not sure why he does that, but hey — it’s kind of adorable.

Thankfully, this year, he managed to pack all that enthusiasm into one single day (thanks to his work).

He even took a full day off — which, by the way, shocked his office staff.

And fun fact: on his birthday, he went to work. 🤣

The Mystery Begins

A day before my birthday, while driving back from work, he called — part of our usual routine.

He drives. I and my son just stare at him like we’re in a documentary called The Busy Husband Returns Home.

Then he suddenly says,

“If you had to choose something — silver or blue — what would you pick?”

And I’m like, what “something”?

My brain started a mini investigation:

• Is it the cake decor?

• Jewelry?

• Balloons?

• A new car? (well, one can dream)

He refused to tell me.

I said, “You know best, how would I know?”

He said, “No, no, you choose.”

After five rounds of this interrogation, I gave up and said, “Okay fine, silver.”

And guess what he was talking about? See yourself:

Yep.

An iPad.

Silver.

I didn’t even see that coming!

He gifted this to himself or me — not sure 🤣

The “Perfectly Planned” Day

He told me to be ready by 8:30 AM sharp.

8:30! On my birthday!

Is this a celebration or a punishment? 😭

Of course, we left the house around 12 PM.

Classic us.

First stop — Gurudwara.

Second — Mandir.

Then he turned to me and said,

“So, where do you want to go next?”

Excuse me?! Wasn’t he the one planning this whole day?

Anyway, we went shopping, had lunch — it turned into a pretty sweet “normal weekend”… until the night.

That’s when he finally revealed his small surprises and totally redeemed himself.

My parents celebrated back home in India, my in-laws too — and here we were, cutting cake, laughing, and FaceTiming everyone like a family sitcom finale.

Sharing the pictures of the cake below…

Just in case you don’t believe my story. 🤣

So yeah — that’s how my birthday went.

Simple, chaotic, and perfectly me.

Thanks for reading till the end — now you may officially wish me. 😌🎉

You’ve heard it since childhood: money can’t buy happiness.

Sounds poetic, right?

Looks great printed on a quote card — preferably designed by someone who probably got paid well to make it. 😏

But in this world we live in, money doesn’t just talk — it screams.

It speaks louder than your thoughts, your morals, and sometimes even your love.

If your pockets are full, people nod at your nonsense like it’s wisdom.

You can be arrogant, late, or brutally honest — and it’ll still sound like confidence.

Because money gives your words volume.

Suddenly, your opinions are “insightful.”

Your mistakes? “Bold moves.”

Even your silence feels “mysterious.”

But strip away that wealth, and the same world will call you lazy, lost, or delusional.

Money brings confidence — the kind that makes even a shy, stammering person speak like a CEO.

It brings power — the kind that makes people who once ignored you suddenly remember your name.

It even brings relatives closer (especially during festival season).

You? You don’t have value.

It’s your bank balance they bow to.

So why not earn unapologetically?

Why not want more — not just for greed, but for freedom, respect, and comfort?

Because no one listens to empty pockets.

So get up. Work hard.

Earn like your dreams depend on it — because they do.

Because money doesn’t define your worth — but it does decide how the world treats you.

It buys freedom, respect, and the peace to choose your own life.

And that, my friend, is the cruel truth we can’t ignore.

They always want to show you something: a new purchase, a gift, something they cooked, or a random household improvement. Sounds simple, right? Wrong.

As soon as the call starts, the camera is never where it’s supposed to be. Sometimes I just see the wall. Other times, I see half of their face, or one eye, or their forehead, or… hair. Sometimes it’s literally the ceiling.

And heaven forbid I’m supposed to see the thing they bought. They turn the camera back and suddenly all I can see is… their chin. Or a floating hand. Or some random corner of the room. The object? Invisible. Gone. Mission failed. 😁

By the end of the call, you haven’t really seen anything you were supposed to. You’ve gotten a full close-up tour of random body parts, furniture corners, and the occasional ceiling.

And of course, if you say:

“Mumma, I can’t see anything! This side, that side…”,

they’ll instantly get frustrated:

“I’m showing you that side only! Why can’t you see it? Sahi te aa camera… kidr kra?”

It’s like a mini argument, with them convinced you’re the problem, the camera is perfect, and somehow the object they bought has magically disappeared.

And finally, after all the chaos, it always ends the same way:

“Call more often, beta.” ❤️

Honestly, video calls with Indian parents aren’t about showing the thing at all — they’re about love, chaos, and a little accidental comedy.Ghr a

We all have heard this one, right?

That wives are the ones who rule the house.

That husbands become soft little cats in front of them — nodding, agreeing, and pretending to have no say at all.

They even love saying things like,

“Who am I to decide anything when I have you?”

As if we’re queens and they’re just humble servants.

But let’s be honest — that’s not how it works.

They’re the ones who make us agree to their decisions, in their way, and still manage to make us believe it was our idea all along.

Genius, right? The world blames us, and they walk away innocent!

Boyfriend vs Husband — The Evolution

You’ve heard this before: boyfriends and husbands are not the same species.

As long as he’s your boyfriend, he’ll promise to bring you the moon, the stars, and maybe even build you a planet.

But the moment he becomes a husband — poof! — he can’t even bring you a plate from the kitchen.

Forget the moon, he won’t cross the living room.

And if — by mistake — he actually offers to help, it comes with conditions:

He’ll only step in when the kitchen looks like a showroom.

Otherwise, you’ll hear something like:

“I was just trying to help!”

while the counter looks like a warzone where tomatoes died bravely.

The ‘I’ll Cook Today’ Trap

Ah, the classic one.

He proudly declares, “Don’t worry, I’ll make dinner today.”

But five minutes later, you’re chopping onions, washing vegetables, and searching for spices — while he stands beside you, mixing things in a pan and saying,

“See? I told you I’d cook today.”

And when, by rare cosmic accident, he actually cooks alone, your kitchen ends up looking like the aftermath of an action movie.

Oil splattered on the stove, sauce on the walls, and a sink that looks like a crime scene.

If you dare to complain, you’ll hear,

“Ik te sabji bnao, ik galan suno.”

Translation: “First I cook, then I also have to listen to complaints?”

The Get-Ready Game

Then comes the classic husband move —

“We’re going out. Get ready.”

They take 10 minutes — pants, shirt, hair done.

And then they look at you, still getting ready, like you’ve just applied for a visa to Mars.

“You were looking fine before also!”

Excuse me?

You took 10 minutes and used one product — shampoo.

We have layers, steps, and the emotional journey of an eyeliner involved here!

Respect the process…

The Paradox

And yet…

When you get hurt, they’re the first ones to rush, worried sick, holding your hand, scolding you, then making you laugh.

You stand there wondering —

how can the same man drive you insane and melt your heart in the same hour?

Maybe that’s what makes them so impossible to define.

They’re the most confusing creatures ever — dramatic, funny, stubborn, and yet, the ones who make your chaos feel a little more alive.

Final Thoughts

So yes, dear husbands — you might not bring us the moon anymore,

but you still manage to orbit our worlds.

Messy kitchens and all.

🌧️The Quiet Ache of Being Alive

Because sometimes the heart grows tired of pretending it’s okay.

Some nights, I sit quietly with my thoughts —

they crawl around my mind like old ghosts that refuse to leave.

They ask me questions I cannot answer,

about dreams that never began,

and moments that slipped through my fingers while I smiled for the world.

There are days when life feels heavier than death —

not because I want to leave,

but because I’m tired of feeling like a stranger inside my own skin.

Nothing’s wrong. No one hurt me.

Life looks fine on paper — love, family, stability —

and yet my heart feels bruised.

I breathe, I laugh, I carry on…

but something inside whispers, “This isn’t peace. This is pretending.”

I talk to God sometimes — not in prayer,

but in quiet arguments.

I ask why a heart that has everything still feels empty.

The sky never replies.

Maybe silence is the only answer I deserve.

Still, I write. I cry. I wait.

I tell myself that maybe one day,

the heaviness will be gone.

Maybe the ropes will loosen.

Maybe I’ll breathe without reminding myself to.

It’s not like this feeling will never go away.

It does — for a while.

But then it comes back, quietly, like it always does.

It arrives when time starts slipping through my hands,

when I begin to believe I’m not doing enough,

not becoming enough.

And in those moments, I ask myself —

what’s the point of all this?

Of living, breathing, pretending?

After crying, yelling, and comparing myself to God,

I know I’ll be okay again.

I always am.

But deep down, I also know —

it will come back to haunt me,

just like it always has.

And I keep wondering…

when will it stop?