So we get comfortable. We normalize things.

Look around you. There’s probably something right there that you once thought was impossible to have. A friend you once desperately wanted. A family you once wished you could spend more time with. A little independence. A job. A room of your own. A life that once existed only in your “maybe someday.”
And now?
It’s normal.
You barely notice it.

That’s the scary part. We turn miracles into routines.

Until something changes. Until someone leaves. Until a relationship ends. Until an opportunity disappears.
And suddenly we’re looking backward thinking,
why didn’t I appreciate that more? Why didn’t I stay a little longer?

Sometimes we miss the deadline. Sometimes we fight until the very last second. And sometimes, honestly, we lose.

But here’s what I think I’ve started understanding:
A deadline doesn’t create effort. It makes you honest about desire.
When you know the clock is running, you stop pretending you don’t care. You find another way. You show up, not because someone told you to, but because fuck, I really want this.

And maybe that’s the balance: fight for what you want, appreciate what you have, and don’t assume either will be here forever.

Because in Tamil, there’s a saying:

அடுத்த நிமிஷம் நிச்சயம் இல்லாத வாழ்க்கை.
Adutha nimisham nichayam illatha vaazhkai.
A life where even the next minute isn’t guaranteed.

So look around. Not tomorrow. Not when you get the job. Not when you find the person. Right now. There is probably something in your life that an older version of you would’ve considered a miracle. Don’t wait for its deadline to realize it.

I lost something I thought I’d have for much longer.
There’s a chair I don’t sit in anymore.
I’m still grieving it.
But life didn’t exactly ask for permission to keep moving. There’s a remote job keeping me going. Campus placements are still ahead. My career is still a giant question mark. There are still things I want. There are still things worth fighting for. There are still side quests.

So maybe I’m not out of the woods. Maybe none of us ever really are. But for once, I don’t want to spend the whole time looking for the exit. I want to look around. I want to notice.

And if there’s something I really want? I’ll chase it like the clock is running out.

Because maybe that’s what a deadline really gives us: not a reason to hurry, but a reason to finally admit how badly we want something and go for it.

Not dramatically or mysteriously.

I just apparently needed a small break from turning every emotion into a 900-word article.

So here’s the extremely unnecessary status report.

First, I cancelled Spotify Duo.

It’s over.

Gone.

I’ve moved to Apple Music because apparently even my music subscription needed a breakup.

Sorry, Taylor.

Can’t listen to So High School anymore.

Then Olivia Rodrigo arrived with an entire album and said, “you look pretty sad for a girl so in love.”

Girl, I KNOW RIGHT.

So now I’m switching between Maggots for Brain, Reflections, stupid song and The Cure, trying to figure out which song is going to emotionally assassinate me at the least.

I mean, it’s none of them.

I can’t listen to any of those songs anymore. It’s crucifying me in every possible way.

Who knew a three-minute audio file could have this much authority over my life?

Then, because apparently the universe thought the playlist wasn’t enough, I received some information I absolutely did not order.

Apparently, a few days after our breakup, something became official.

And now I’m stuck with the most ridiculous question:

Do I believe the person I was with for three years?

Or do I believe a third person who, ironically, is damn close to him?

Like, how stuck can one person possibly be?

Because if I believe him, I have to believe the three years I spent with him meant what I thought they meant.

If I believe the other person, suddenly I have to question the entire fucking thing.

And that’s the part I can’t explain.

I’m just sitting here with information that could completely rewrite three years of my life.

If it’s true, the damage is unbearable.

If it isn’t, then what the hell am I supposed to do with this information?

I asked him when we broke up if there was someone else.

He said no.

So I’m choosing to leave it there.

Not because I’m convinced.

Not because I know what’s true.

But because I genuinely cannot spend the rest of my life trying to investigate a relationship that already ended.

I’ve already blocked him everywhere.

My detective era has been cancelled.

I refuse to become Sherlock Holmes with a broken heart and access my mutual friends.

And honestly, this is probably why Maggots for Brain has been on repeat.

Because apparently I don’t need answers.

I just need three minutes of extremely loud music to stop my brain from conducting a fucking investigation.

And because apparently emotional damage needed a career arc too, I successfully ruined a really good interview.

Not a mediocre one.

Not one I secretly wanted to escape from.

A REALLY GOOD ONE.

Apparently my personal life looked at my career and said,

“Don’t worry, I’ll ruin this too.”

So yeah.

That’s where I’ve been.

Cancelling subscriptions.

Changing music platforms.

Cheating on Taylor Swift with Olivia Rodrigo.

Receiving information I never asked for.

Ruining interviews.

Writing things and then staring at them for three days before deciding whether anyone needs to know.

Very normal activities.

Very healthy.

Very productive.

So, for the people wondering if I’m okay,

I’m actually okay.

Or at least I’m trying to be.

And maybe that’s the whole point of this tiny update.

Not everything needs to become a tragedy.

Sometimes your Spotify Duo dies.

Sometimes Olivia Rodrigo personally attacks you.

Sometimes you absolutely butcher an interview.

Sometimes you disappear from Substack because you simply don’t have any energy left.

Sometimes you receive information that makes you question three years of your life.

And sometimes you just need to laugh at the absolute circus of it all.

So I’m going to stop taking every little thing so seriously.

At least until my next emotional support playlist drops.

See you when I see you.

Hopefully with a functioning career, a less terrifying playlist, a healthier relationship with myself, and absolutely no more unsolicited newsletters about anyone’s love life.

And if you’ve also had a completely normal, deeply unnecessary life update lately, tell me about it.

We broke up on the night of 21 July, or maybe the morning of 22 July around 12:13 a.m.

It lasted eight minutes.

The last two were just silence.

You tried to end things over text. I couldn’t let that be the last memory, so I called. I think that was the last time I’ll ever hear your voice.

I think it’s finally time to move on.

To stop talking about you.

To stop replaying every conversation.

To stop hoping that somehow things will go back to what they were.

I loved you.

I really did.

When I moved to Bengaluru, my world became bigger. I had new experiences. I travelled. I met different people. I always had people around me.

But when life became difficult, when everything around me felt uncertain, you were still the person I wanted beside me.

For a long time I confused comfort with love, distance with losing feelings, and boredom with incompatibility.

Sometimes I thought I had fallen out of love.

Sometimes I felt bored when we went out.

Sometimes I wondered if we simply weren’t compatible anymore.

I felt like I was changing parts of myself just to make the relationship work, and I was scared of losing who I was.

When I tried to explain these feelings to you, I ended up hurting you instead.

Badly.

If I’m being honest with myself, I hurt you over and over again.

It wasn’t because there was someone else.

It wasn’t because I stopped caring.

It was because I kept repeating the same cycle.

We would break up.

I’d miss you.

We would get back together.

I’d promise things would be different.

Then I’d lose certainty again.

There was never another man.

There was never cheating.

There was just me constantly questioning my own feelings.

Looking back, I think I was trying to understand myself while asking you to wait for me.

That wasn’t fair to you.

But then life reminded me what really mattered.

A month later, when I went home, my mom casually asked me about marriage after college.

Without thinking, the only person I pictured beside me was you.

That was when everything hit me.

By the time I realized what I wanted, you had already started moving on.

You had people around you.

People telling you that you deserved better.

Maybe you did.

You always tried to make me happy, and somehow my happiness became your happiness.

You had a thousand reasons to leave me long before you actually did.

You stayed anyway.

I didn’t understand what I had until I watched you walk away.

Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed you so much.

Maybe I should have loved you the way you deserved.

Maybe I took for granted something I thought could never break.

I believed what we had was unbreakable.

I believed no matter what happened, we’d somehow find our way back.

I forgot that everything can break.

Everything can change.

In a week.

In a day.

In an hour.

In a minute.

When you finally left, I begged.

I fought.

I tried everything I possibly could to save us.

But sometimes you arrive at the realization after the other person has already left.

I later found out that you had emotionally moved on two months before we ended.

You said you had forced yourself to stay.

You tried to make it work.

I saw pictures of you smiling, surrounded by people, looking genuinely happy.

Maybe this is what happiness looks like for you now.

It breaks me, but I don’t want someone to stay with me out of guilt.

The hardest part isn’t that you left.

It’s that somewhere along the way, you became someone I no longer recognized.

The person I fell in love with believed in honesty, loyalty, and standing by the people he loved. He valued people deeply. That was one of the reasons I loved you.

I know I hurt you.

I know my actions had consequences, and I’ll carry that responsibility.

But staying with me for two months after you had already decided to leave, watching me change, letting me believe we were rebuilding something, only to later tell me you stayed because I kept begging, that wasn’t the person I knew.

While we were trying to make us work again, I genuinely changed.

Not because you demanded it.

Because I wanted to become someone better for the person I loved.

I stopped smoking.

I stopped drinking.

I made myself more available.

I learned to express my feelings because you always told me that hearing what was going on inside my head made you feel closer to me.

I tried.

Really tried.

The one thing that never changed was how much I loved you.

But now I understand something painful.

Love wasn’t enough.

Not ours.

Maybe we simply didn’t love each other in the ways we both needed.

You said we grew apart.

I don’t think we did.

People don’t accidentally grow apart overnight.

They make decisions.

Your decision was that you no longer wanted me to be part of the life you were building.

That’s different.

People change. I understand that.

But changing shouldn’t mean losing your morals or treating someone who once meant everything to you as if they’re disposable.

Relationships deserve the same respect as friendships.

Someone you once loved shouldn’t become easy to discard just because the relationship has ended.

Maybe this version of you is happier.

If it is, I truly hope you find the life you want.

I cannot speak ill of you.

Because despite everything, there was a version of you that loved me with everything you had.

And there was a version of me that loved you with everything I had.

Maybe those two people just don’t exist anymore.

I let you go.

I evict you from my heart.

Not because you meant nothing.

But because I can’t keep living inside memories that only I still believe in.

You chose not to build a future with me.

You chose to close the door.

Now I’m choosing to lock it.

This is our final ritual together.

We move on.

I’m not going to compete in a race that isn’t mine.

I’m not going to compare myself with the people in your life now or wonder if they’re funnier, prettier, kinder, or somehow more deserving than I was.

You made your choice.

Now I have to make mine.

For a long time, I thought losing you meant losing the future I had imagined.

Now I think losing myself would have been worse.

I don’t think I have faith in love anymore.

Today, I hope it never finds me again.

Maybe one day I’ll feel differently.

Maybe one day I won’t.

But today, this is my truth.

And before I end this chapter, there’s one last thing.

You always asked me to write an article about you.

I always laughed and said it was too personal.

I guess you finally got your article.

I just never imagined it would be the story of our ending.

Goodbye.

I hope you find the happiness you were looking for.

And I hope, someday, I find myself again.

No matter what I do, no matter how much life gets better, I still end up feeling lost.

I was never someone who planned anything. Somehow, every decision I made without overthinking turned out to be the right one. Even when things didn’t go my way, I never regretted them. I always found a way to see the positive side and kept moving.

But when you’re in love with someone who has their whole life planned out, somewhere in the middle of an ordinary day, you start wondering if maybe you should’ve planned something for yourself too.

I don’t know how not having a job as a student makes every damn day feel like a bad day. I keep finding reasons to make myself sad. Upset. Like somehow that’s what I deserve.

And even now, calling myself a student almost feels like an alibi. A word I hide behind because it makes me feel like I still have time. Like it’s okay that I haven’t figured everything out yet.

I wanted something different. I wanted to move abroad, stay there, study, experience life, and just... live. I planned for it. I wanted that chapter so badly.

Now that plan has completely gone downhill.

I don’t want an IT job just because I’m at the age where I’m supposed to have one. I don’t want to wake up one day and realize I chose a career because it was expected of me.

I want to find something I genuinely love. Something I can pour my heart into instead of spending years chasing money.

Don’t get me wrong. I want to work. I don’t think I could ever sit around doing nothing. Staying idle has never been me.

I just want to spend my time doing the right thing. Something that makes me excited to wake up. Something that feels like mine.

Maybe I’ll end up in IT. Maybe I won’t.

I’m not against hard work.

I’m just scared of spending years climbing a ladder I never wanted to be on in the first place.

Unfortunately, everyone around me seems to have a plan.

Ask someone where they see themselves in five years and the answers come instantly.

“I want to be a manager.”

“I want to earn a lot.”

“I want a BMW.”

“I want a house.”

“I want to travel.”

And honestly, that’s amazing if those things make them happy.

But is that what I want?

Money matters. It’ll always matter. It gives you security. It keeps you standing. I’m not pretending it doesn’t.

But doing something that doesn’t interest me for years just because it’s stable... I don’t know if I can do that forever.

Maybe I only convinced myself I could because I grew up with Indian parents, where stability always came before passion.

What I actually want feels much simpler.

I want a job I enjoy.

A decent salary that lets me take care of myself.

I want to buy the people I love the little things that make them smile.

I want to take care of them.

I want to travel a bit.

Have drinks on random evenings.

Come home to the person I love.

That’s enough for me.

I know I can endure whatever life puts on my plate. I’ve always managed to.

Maybe I should’ve started asking myself these questions sooner.

Or maybe I should stop trying to force every answer and just let life happen the way it always has.

If I get a job, I’ll gain experience.

If I don’t, I’ll keep trying to figure things out.

Just because someone else has their life figured out doesn’t mean I need to have mine figured out too.

We’re all moving at our own pace.

Life has never been the same race for everyone.

People always say, “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.”

Maybe this is just my pile of lemons.

Maybe I’m still walking deeper into the tunnel.

I just hope one day I look back and realize the tunnel wasn’t where my story ended.

Maybe it was just where it began.

Recently I saw a post about what the bare minimum in a relationship is.

It didn’t talk about flowers, daily texts, remembering every little thing, or constant reassurance. It was just one thing:

You shouldn’t feel alone with them there.

And that hit me.

This whole month was packed. Placements, interviews, exams, and life just kept moving. I was surrounded by people almost every day, yet there were still moments where I felt completely alone. Now that everything has slowed down, I catch myself doing anything to stay occupied. Maybe because staying busy is easier than sitting with what I feel.

And honestly, I get it. Life gets busy. Long distance isn’t easy. Work, responsibilities, and even needing time for yourself , it’s all real. I’m not saying anyone is wrong. I just keep wondering: if you can understand why someone isn’t around, but still end up feeling alone, is that just part of loving someone? Or is that exactly what the bare minimum is supposed to prevent?

It’s strange how one person can have so much power over you. The same person who makes you feel safe can also make you yearn. They can calm every storm or become the reason it starts. Sometimes they can make you feel like you’re falling apart without ever intending to.

And then I wonder: what would one five-minute call really change? What would a simple “How are you?” do? What would one small check-in cost? Would it really make no difference, or would it change everything? Should I be the one to reach out? Or should I give them space? How do you know when giving someone space becomes slowly growing apart?

Because love shouldn’t feel like you’re one wrong move away from losing someone. It shouldn’t make you rehearse every message before sending it. It shouldn’t make you question whether asking for reassurance is asking for too much. It shouldn’t make silence feel safer than honesty.

Maybe this is all because my emotions are heightened. Maybe everything feels heavier because I miss him. Maybe I’m overthinking.

I hope I am.

But there’s a difference between feeling the distance and feeling it in every part of your day. Distance should make you miss someone. It shouldn’t make you feel like you have to keep parts of your life to yourself.

I still want you to be the first person I tell things to. The interview that went well. The bad days. The random thought that made me laugh. The tiny moments that mean nothing to anyone else but somehow mean everything when they’re shared with you.

But lately, instead of telling you how I feel, I’ve been sitting with it. Not because I stopped wanting to share it with you, but because somewhere along the way, silence started feeling easier than wondering whether there was a wall between us. I don’t want grand gestures. I don’t need constant conversations. I just miss feeling like I could reach for you without hesitation.

Maybe that’s what I’ve been trying to put into words all along. I don’t miss you because you’re absent. I miss you because you’re still the first person I want to tell everything to. I miss the feeling of knowing that, no matter what happened during my day, you’d be the first person I’d want to call, text, or laugh with.

And maybe the saddest question I’ve had to ask myself is this:

Did I stay quiet because I wanted to give you space

Or because I was afraid that, somewhere along the way, silence had started building a wall between us?

As anyone who’s read my articles knows, I’m job hunting.

A while back, I interviewed for a role that genuinely felt perfect for me. Not just another application I had sent out, but a role I actually wanted. The kind of opportunity that makes you sit down, prepare properly, and give it everything you’ve got.

The interview process was supposed to be simple. One round. A decision. That’s what I was told.

So I prepared for it properly. DSA, coding, concepts, aptitude, revision. I spent days making sure I was ready because I genuinely wanted the role.

The first round went well. I cleared it.

Then came a second round.

Again technical. Again coding. Again conceptual discussions. Again proving the same skills to a different set of people.

I cleared that too.

What surprised me wasn’t the difficulty of the interviews. I actually enjoy being challenged. What surprised me was the process itself.

I found myself repeatedly proving the same things over and over again. The same concepts. The same coding ability. The same evaluations. Just different faces on the other side of the screen.

There were also moments during the process that simply didn’t sit right with me. I was asked to show my entire room. There was very little space to explain my thinking, very little room to pause and work through a problem. At times, it felt less like a technical discussion and more like a test of how much pressure a candidate was willing to tolerate.

Despite all of that, I was informed that I had cleared the round.

There was just one more step.

Another technical round.

That was the moment I stopped thinking about whether I could clear the interview and started thinking about whether I wanted to.

After all of this, I had a conversation with someone from my university who was connected to the company.

They mentioned that with projects slowing down, some companies keep hiring pipelines active even when actual hiring isn’t moving at the same pace.

Now, I don’t know how true that is in this case.

And honestly, it doesn’t matter.

Because even if that wasn’t the reason, my experience was enough for me to make my decision.

Three rounds.

Repeated evaluations.

Constantly proving the same things.

And an interview environment that just didn’t sit right with me.

So I messaged HR and respectfully withdrew.

Not because I couldn’t clear another round.

Because I realized I didn’t want to work in an environment that made me feel like I had to earn basic respect.

One thing this experience taught me is that interviews are not one-sided. Companies evaluate candidates, but candidates should evaluate companies too.

As freshers, we’re often told to be grateful for opportunities. And we should be.

But being grateful doesn’t mean ignoring red flags.

The search continues.

A month ago, I was at one of the lowest points of my life.

I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t focus on my studies. My exams suffered, and every day felt heavier than the last. My mind was filled with endless questions.

What if I become a failure?

What if he moves on?

What if I never build the career I dream of?

What if I’m simply not good enough?

For the first time in my life, I genuinely felt lost. There were moments when I couldn’t see a future worth looking forward to. Moments when the pain felt bigger than me.

Today, not everything is fixed.

I’m still unemployed.

Tomorrow, I have an interview. I might get the job, or I might not.

The person I love is still not here. We’re on a break. We’re in no contact.

And yet, somehow, I feel different.

I’ve never been someone who believed strongly in destiny. I’ve never been the person who says, “If it’s meant to be, it will be.” I’ve never believed that time magically heals everything.

But today, I understand something I didn’t understand a month ago.

Time doesn’t heal.

What time does is give you the opportunity to heal yourself.

Little by little.

Day by day.

One difficult moment at a time.

Today, getting interview calls as a student feels like a win.

Waking up and having hope feels like a win.

Looking toward tomorrow instead of fearing it feels like a win.

And maybe that’s what progress actually looks like.

Not grand victories.

Not overnight transformations.

Just small signs that you’re becoming stronger than the version of yourself that wanted to give up.

As for him, I still love him.

Maybe I’ll always love him.

I still hope that one day he’ll call and say, “Let’s start over.”

Maybe he will. Maybe he won’t.

The truth is, none of us know what tomorrow holds.

But I’ve realized that life cannot be lived inside a “what if.”

You can’t build a future while standing still and waiting for answers.

You have to keep moving.

That brings me to something I’ve been thinking about lately.

Life is like a tunnel.

Most people stand at the entrance, staring into the darkness. They want certainty before they take the first step. They want to know exactly where the tunnel leads before they walk through it.

But life doesn’t work that way.

The only way to know what’s on the other side is to go through it.

Through the heartbreak.

Through the failures.

Through the uncertainty.

Through the rejection.

Through the fear.

The tunnel doesn’t get shorter because you stop walking.

The darkness doesn’t disappear because you avoid it.

The only way is through.

Today, for the first time in a long time, I can see a little bit of light.

Not because my problems are gone.

Not because I have all the answers.

But because I kept walking long enough to see it.

If you’re standing at the beginning of your own tunnel right now, wondering whether it’s worth taking another step, this is your sign.

Keep going.

There will always be a luck factor in life.

But consistency and the courage to take one more step will take you further than fear ever will.

If I can see the light, so can you.

Just don’t stop walking.

The only way is through.

From childhood, under so-called Indian parenting, I was taught one thing:
Be brave. Be strong. Bear discomfort. Never complain.

And I did.
But somewhere along the way, I lost the ability to know what was right for me.

I thought I was doing everything correctly.
An integrated course. Two internships while studying. On paper, it looked solid.

Then I joined my second internship and realised it was toxic.
I hated the environment. I hated the work.
Ironically, I loved the city.

Still, I stayed. Because that’s what we’re taught, right?
“Work is supposed to be hard.”
“Endure it.”
“So many people would be grateful to be in your place.”

Between college pressure, breakdowns, and exhaustion, I finished it anyway.
Blood, sweat, tears checked.

By the time I returned to college, I was physically and mentally burnt out.
My body started keeping score.
Eight fibroadenomas later, physical health finally mattered enough for me to be allowed to quit.

I had plans.
I wanted to study abroad. I wanted an MBA.

Then reality hit.
Minimum three years of work experience required.

So here’s the recap no one prepares you for:

I had a job → I quit (to go abroad) → No abroad → No job.

Not painful enough?
The worst part wasn’t losing the job.
It was realising after quitting that I might have been wrong.

That mistake cost me a toxic job.
And, for a while, my will to live.

All my friends are placed now.
I’m genuinely happy for them. I am.

But it’s hard not to feel like I ruined my own life.

I’ve decided I won’t sit for placements.
Even thinking about them makes my skin crawl.
And yet I’m not ready to let go of the dream I once had.

So I keep asking myself:

• Am I ungrateful?

• Am I not worth anything?

• Am I asking for too much?

Maybe this is where my Indian parenting memory kicks in again-
Life is hard. Endure.

But social media tells a different story.
Twenty-one year olds with no degree, high-paying jobs, perfect lives.
Success before 30 or you’ve failed.

But what is success, really?

Someone else’s definition?
Or something we get to define ourselves?

At this point, I think we all need our own definition of success.
And honestly-
fuck society.