You are no longer in your feelings; you think and speak, laugh and feel, and somewhere in between you realize that all of that is happening while you are aware of it all.

You laugh at yourself, knowing why you laughed at yourself. You feel something, and before it can settle in your chest as a feeling, you are already questioning how much it means, why it happened, why you said it, what intention led to it, what story you will make out of it, and what story you will tell them until the end of time about this specific person, this specific situation, and this specific thing that has just occurred.

You know yourself well enough to know what you would have been thinking and what you would have done. And somehow you're aware of it all, and the awareness makes everything a little less innocent.

You care about a person, but you know you care about them.

You want to check on a person, but you know what a small thought of checking on them can turn into

You laugh with someone, but you are aware of how much you genuinely enjoy their company on a personal level.

You are aware of every gesture made in your honor, because you know what a gesture of service is, you know how much the other person is trying to give you, and you know the little things others may miss, because you are always looking for them. And you receive them casually, as if you are brushing off any thought that you actually noticed anything at all, you are brushing off your awareness of the other person's thoughts and feelings, because you know you are supposed to think of them as irrelevant and unfair, but somehow you cannot, so you pretend not to notice.

Even when someone's face lights up when you are around, and even when you think about what you have said and done and what your presence may be doing to them, because you know the other person, you know what the other person is capable of, you know what could be misunderstood, you know what could be misinterpreted to mean more than it does, when you could have simply meant something nice and platonic.

You are aware of the way you feel about someone, the places where your impatience is wearing thin, and the places where your patience is fake and unsustainable, where you know the other person is getting both sides of you, but somehow, deep down, you know who gets which side and why.

You’re aware of conversations getting too serious and of memories tugging at your heartstrings, and you return to them again and again and again, fully cognizant of the fact that nothing will come of them, that nothing will change, that you will not change, that you will still move on, but somehow you find yourself returning. You talk again, you laugh again, and you share little stories again, but you do it all with awareness this time, and you do it all with an added level of self-consciousness, and it almost makes things easier for you, in a strange way.

Perhaps that is what being aware of yourself makes you realize, that it makes you conscious of your attachment, your feelings for someone else.

You know when you are becoming attached to someone, when you are becoming vulnerable, when you are allowing someone to matter a little bit more than they should, and so you pull backwards.

You know how much you care about someone else, and you realize that perhaps the best you can do for both of you is to stay silent.

You soften what you say because you realize what your sharper words could be doing to the person, you pull yourself back when you know that talking to someone else would do more harm than good, because you realize that it would open up too much of your heart and you would have to deal with the repercussions of it all for a very long time

You know what you are not saying, what you are not asking, what you are not sharing, and what you are not giving, and you do it anyway. And all of these little things are noticed by you; they are part of your self-awareness.

You see someone sad about something; you know they want to share something with you; you notice when someone needs your presence in their life.

Sometimes, you even know exactly what they need from you.

But you decide that some things are better left unoffered, because you know you would take them the wrong way, because you know that the little things you give can turn into bigger things, because you know that your presence can become someone's reliance, because you know that letting someone in can become letting them matter, and so you watch yourself carefully, because you know that all of this can hurt you

and so you watch yourself carefully, you measure every thought and action of yours, and you pull yourself back, knowing that you have the ability to be both the person living through these experiences, as well as the person standing on the outside observing them, measuring and judging, deciding on the things you should, and more importantly, the things you should not do.

Maybe that is what being too self-aware does to you; it makes you so good at knowing what you think and feel that you no longer allow yourself to do either one of these things freely.

Maybe this is what you call awareness because calling it fear makes it sound too simple.
Because maybe it's not just about you knowing yourself,
maybe it's about you protecting yourself.
But is this not a kind of fear as well,
the kind that makes you protect yourself from losing yourself in other people?

Thank you for reading. 🌷

Too Aware to Be Careless was originally published in No Time on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

There are some things which have become so normal around us that we don’t even notice them anymore.

The way people talk to someone just because they are working in a government office. The sudden change in tone when the person sitting in front of them has a higher post. The way asking for help somehow turns into talking rudely to the person who is actually trying to help you.

And then we complain about civic sense.

We want better roads, better government offices, better facilities, better services, better everything. But somewhere in all these expectations, we rarely stop and ask ourselves what we are contributing to the place we live in.

Civic sense, for me, isn’t only about not throwing garbage somewhere or not spitting on a perfectly good wall. It’s also about how you behave with people around you. How you speak. How you treat someone whose job puts them in a position where they have to listen to you.

And honestly, I had not thought about this particular part of it that deeply either.

Until yesterday.

I had some work at the bank.

I just went because my papa told me, very simply, to handle my own work this time.

Usually, he does these things for me.

So yeah, this was me finally entering the adult world of bank forms and confused questions.

I reached there, told two people sitting behind the glass about my work and one of them gave me a form. I filled it, but then got stuck at one thing. I genuinely didn't understand what it was.

I did what I usually do first. Googled it.

Didn’t help much.

So I asked another sir sitting behind the glass.

He explained it to me, but quite quickly. I still didn’t get it.

So I asked again.

This time he dropped his pen and made this little “oh, okay” face.

I was literally scanning his face trying to figure out whether he was irritated or just tired.

So I explained to him that I was coming there for the first time on my own, papa usually handles these things and there are a lot of things I genuinely don’t know about.

He just said, “It’s alright.”

And then he actually took around ten minutes and explained everything to me.Not just the thing I was asking about, but a few other things related to it too. He even asked me about my studies because he knew I was a student and then gave me some advice regarding that.

And honestly, I really enjoyed talking to him.Not because he did something extraordinary. He was literally doing his job.

But there was something about the way he explained things.

He didn’t make me feel stupid for not knowing.And that, for some reason, felt really nice.While I was sitting there, people kept coming.

One person would ask something, another would come with some other problem, someone didn’t understand what he was explaining, someone needed something explained again.

And I started noticing the way some people were talking to him.

Not everyone, obviously.

But some people had this tone which was so unnecessarily disrespectful. Like they weren’t asking for help, they were complaining to someone who had personally ruined their life.

One guy literally came and started talking as if the bank belonged to his family.

I was sitting there thinking, how are you talking to someone like this when the person is literally trying to help you?

And the funny thing was, that employee still explained everything to him.

Politely.

But after that guy left, I could see that look on his face.

That tired look.

Not exactly angry.

More like... fed up.

Then suddenly he looked at me and asked,

“Have you ever seen anyone here talking to you like that?”

I said no.

And then somehow our conversation continued.

He told me there was a reason he was trying to make me understand certain things. And one of the first things he mentioned was respect.

That genuinely surprised me.

Because how often do we actually think about the respect part?

We go to a bank, government office, hospital, college office, wherever, and the person sitting in front of us becomes their designation.

Bank employee.

Government employee.

Clerk.

Officer.

Whatever.

We forget there is a person sitting there.

He told me a little about his own life too. About his father going through surgery, about how bad the local hospital and some other facilities were, and about how frustrating his own work could feel sometimes.

And I was listening.

For almost ten minutes I had somehow gone from being the confused girl who didn’t know what to fill in a form to sitting there listening to a complete stranger talk about his life.

And weirdly, I didn’t mind it.

Actually, I enjoyed it.

Maybe because I don’t meet many people like that.

People who can explain something to you without first making you feel stupid for not knowing it. This is something I have noticed even around me.

Sometimes when you don’t know something, instead of simply explaining it, people first make you feel bad about not knowing.

“Tumhe itna bhi nahi pata?”

And somehow by the time they actually explain the thing, your confidence has already left the room.

He didn’t do that.

He just explained.

And later, when I had another problem and something was not working, he helped me again. He literally explained everything from scratch and told me to try it.

I tried.

It worked.

I think because I went there feeling a little clueless and came back feeling like, okay, maybe I can actually handle these things myself.

And somewhere in between all this, I kept noticing the way people behave with people working in these places.

And this is where the whole civic sense thing started bothering me.

We complain about the government.

We complain about offices.

We complain about facilities.

We complain about everything.

And yes, there are genuinely a lot of things that need to change. I am not denying that.

But sometimes I wonder, do we ever look at ourselves too?

Because the civic sense is not only about not throwing garbage on the road.

Although apparently that is already too much to ask from some people.

It’s also about how you behave in public.

How you speak to someone.

Whether you can wait without creating a scene.

Whether you can ask for something without behaving like everyone around you owes you something.

Even basic things like not spitting wherever you feel like it.

Some perfectly good places are basically ruined because apparently some people have a personal relationship with the wall.

And then there is this other thing I notice too, especially as a woman.

That habit of staring.

Just staring at you for way too long, scanning you like you are something on display.People have somehow normalised so many things that should actually make us uncomfortable.

And then we ask, why isn’t anything changing?

Maybe because changing things always sounds easier when the person who needs to change is someone else.

The thing that stayed with me most from the bank was not even the work I went there for.

It was the contrast.

The same person who was patiently explaining things to me was also dealing with people who spoke to him like basic respect was optional.

And that’s what got me thinking.

We are so quick to respect people when they have a higher position, a bigger title, more authority. But the person sitting at the counter doing the actual work? Suddenly, the tone changes.

Why?

Why does someone’s designation decide how respectfully we speak to them?

And honestly, this is not only about bank employees or government offices. It’s something I see around me all the time. We want better systems, better services, better facilities, better everything. But somehow, when it comes to our own behaviour, there is always an excuse.

Civic sense is not some huge complicated concept.

Sometimes it’s literally just knowing how to behave around other people.

Don’t spit wherever you want.

Don’t throw things wherever you want.

Don’t stare at people like they’re something on display.

Don’t talk to someone like shit just because their job requires them to listen to you.

And maybe don’t assume that being frustrated gives you a free pass to be disrespectful.

The funny thing is, I went to the bank because my papa finally told me to handle my own work.

I came back with the work done, a little more confidence about handling these things myself, some genuinely good advice from a complete stranger, and a conversation I didn’t expect to have.

So yeah, maybe the bank work was the actual reason I went there.

But the interaction was probably the thing I’ll remember.

If you made it till here, thank you for reading. 🌷

And now I'm curious, have you ever noticed something like this around you? I know many of you are working, and many of you are students too, so I'm sure you've had your own little interactions with people at offices, counters, colleges, or somewhere in between. Have you ever had a conversation or witnessed something that made you look at everyday behaviour a little differently?

I’d genuinely love to know.

Nothing made sense at first, now somehow everything makes sense at the end.

Once, I was the one who blamed the other person for everything. Maybe because I needed someone to blame. Maybe because I needed a reason, and when I couldn't understand the reason, blaming someone felt easier than accepting that I just didn't know what was happening. There were so many things I couldn't see back then. Or maybe I didn't want to see them. Everything felt so obvious from where I was standing. I was hurt, so I thought I was right. I was angry, so I thought the other person must be wrong. And the emotions were so loud that I couldn't really hear anything else.

But now, things feel different. Now even the coldness doesn't carry the same cruelty it once did. It doesn't feel like something I have to hate anymore. Somehow, it has started having its own reason. Not necessarily a good reason. Not necessarily something that makes everything okay. Just a reason. And maybe that's what changed everything for me.

I don't find myself blaming anyone for the things that once hurt me so deeply. Those things hurt so much that there was a time when I genuinely thought, I would never do this to anyone. I would never become like this. I would never make someone feel the way I felt. But then, with time, I started seeing my own part in things too. I can see the things I could have done better. The things I should have understood earlier. The moments where maybe I could have communicated instead of assuming. Maybe I could have asked instead of overthinking. Maybe I could have listened a little more.

But how do you do all of that when your emotions are screaming? Sometimes the hurt is so loud that it makes your ears feel deaf to everything else. Your mind is already occupied with a hundred different thoughts, and you're too scared to look at the other side because what if the other side changes the story you've been telling yourself for so long? So you stay where you are. You hold onto your version because at least that version makes sense to you.

And then one day, you start seeing things you couldn't see before. Not because the past changed. You changed.

And this is where I sometimes have to stop myself and ask, am I invalidating the hurt I once felt just because I understand the other side now? Because I don't want to do that either. I don't want to look back at myself and say, "Oh, maybe it wasn't that bad." No. It was bad for me. It hurt me. I remember how deeply it hurt. I remember the anger, the disappointment, the things I said to myself, the things I decided I would never forgive. Understanding something doesn't make the hurt imaginary. It just means I don't want to carry that hurt forever.

And maybe that's the difference. Maybe letting go isn't saying that what happened was okay. Maybe it is just deciding that I don't want something that happened once to keep happening inside my head every single day.

Still, releasing it feels strangely dangerous. Because sometimes a painful memory is still a memory. And when you let go of the hatred attached to it, you almost feel like you're letting go of the last part of that memory too. Even if that memory was ugly. Even if it was painful. Even if, in some strange way, it was beautifully disgusting. Because it was still yours.

Maybe that's why we keep certain things longer than we should. Not because we love them. Not because we want them back. But because losing the memory completely feels a little like losing a part of ourselves that existed during that time.

I have never really been someone who keeps physical things just because they remind me of someone. I don't keep every little thing, every object, every piece of something that once mattered. But my mind? That's a different story. My mind is a house full of things I thought I had thrown away. Some rooms are full of things I don't want to look at. Some corners still smell like old anger. Some memories are ugly enough that I don't even know why I still remember them.

And then, somewhere in the same house, there is a beautiful little garden. Things I loved. Things I hated. Things I miss. Things I don't want anymore. Things I have forgiven. Things I haven't. All of them somehow living under the same roof.

And maybe that's what growing up actually feels like sometimes. Not suddenly becoming wiser. Not suddenly understanding everything. Just slowly being able to look at the same story from another side without completely abandoning the person you were when it happened.

I can understand them now. I can understand myself too. And maybe that's enough.

I don't need to make the past beautiful just because I have made peace with it. I don't need to call the hurt a lesson every time I remember it. Some things were just painful. Some things were beautiful. Some things were both.

And maybe I can keep the memory without keeping the hatred. Maybe I can remember without reopening the wound. Maybe I can finally leave the door of that room open without having to live inside it.

Because nothing made sense at first.

And now, somehow, everything does.

Not because I finally found someone to blame.

But because I finally stopped needing one.

Lately, I have been seeing her differently. There is a little change in her every time. She doesn’t rush to her people when things start falling apart anymore. Instead, she chooses a corner of the room, sometimes rolling herself around until she finds a comfortable position,her feet resting against the wall, her face hanging slightly below the sofa, strands of her hair falling towards the floor.

Sometimes, she starts her own little self-talk, playing the role of her loved ones and imagining what they would have said if they were there with her. And somehow, in the middle of all that, she laughs like a maniac. Not because anything is particularly funny, but because the conversation inside her head becomes so absurd that she can’t help it. Sometimes I genuinely wonder, is she crazy? Or is she just finding her own strange ways of dealing with things?

Then, almost as if to answer my question, she gets up and walks towards her table. She sits on the chair and stares at her laptop. Ten minutes pass while she overthinks something as simple as whether she should even open it and start programming. She knows she has work to do, yet somehow, opening the laptop feels like a decision that requires serious consideration. Ten minutes later, though, the overthinking suddenly loses its grip. She plays a video on her phone, opens the laptop, and her fingers begin typing. Just like that. Her mind moves on to something else.

By evening, the noise in her head gets louder again. She can go hours without saying much, but put her around the few people she has chosen for herself, and suddenly she has ten different things to say at once. She hasn’t had that kind of conversation yet, though. Even questioning whether she really has anxiety is enough to scare her. Her anxiety has anxiety about anxiety. She knows what works and what doesn’t. She knows the solutions too. But she’s human. And sometimes, even after knowing exactly what she needs, she is still terrible at giving it to herself.

So, finally, she informs her mom and leaves for a walk. The walk is peaceful, even if her mind isn’t. She puts on her earphones and keeps walking, occasionally looking down at the road and the little things lying beside her feet.

Her eyes catch a few pebbles. For a moment, she thinks about picking one up, which immediately reminds her of someone who used to collect them. That somehow leads her to remember the very serious advice they once gave her: boil the stone and throw it. She still has no idea what that was supposed to accomplish. She almost smiles at the memory before the song in her ears pulls her attention back to the road.

A few steps later, she notices a flower growing near the edge of the path and bends down to pick it. A little soil comes along with its roots. That reminds her of a friend who once told her how he used to eat sand and soil as a child. She stares at the little bit of dirt for a second, genuinely wondering how anyone could voluntarily eat soil and why getting scolded apparently wasn’t enough to stop him. She smiles at the absurdity of the thought, shakes the soil off the flower, and continues walking.

Her mind has already gone from a pebble to a person, from a person to a ridiculous memory, from a flower to someone else’s childhood habit of eating dirt. None of it makes much sense. Somehow, it helps.

She keeps walking, lost in her songs, the evening, the flowers, and the little things around her. For a while, she forgets about her anxiety. Her mind keeps drifting between the present and old memories without warning.

Maybe these little detours aren’t always an escape. Maybe sometimes, her mind just needs a pebble, a flower, and a completely unnecessary memory about someone eating soil.

Maybe that’s enough to give it somewhere to rest.

Thank you for reading till the end.🌷

If any part of this felt familiar, I’d love to hear your thoughts. And if you enjoyed it, show some love with some claps. 🤍

Some of us don't lose ourselves all at once.We lose ourselves one favour at a time.
One compromise at a time.
One "It's okay, I can manage." at a time.

Before we realize it, we have become so busy carrying everyone else's emotions that we've forgotten to ask ourselves a simple question:

"How am I doing?"

People often say, "Choose yourself first."It sounds simple.

It isn't.

Choosing yourself means stepping out of a version of yourself that people have grown comfortable with the version that always says yes, always understands, always gives one more chance.

Whether it's friendship, family, or love, many of us unknowingly place ourselves at the very end of our own priority list.

And then one day, we feel empty.

Not because we didn't receive enough love, but because we gave so much of ourselves away that there wasn't much left.

When that emptiness arrives, we often blame people.

"Everyone is selfish."

Maybe some are.But maybe the bigger question is...

Did I ever protect myself?

The truth is, people cannot always know where your limits are if you've never shown them.

That's why boundaries matter.Not because you love people less.But because you finally decide to love yourself too.

A boundary can be as simple as saying,

"I'm not comfortable with this."

For someone who has always known the version of you that never complained, this may seem rude.

But it isn't.

It's unfamiliar.

And unfamiliar things often feel uncomfortable before they feel normal.

Some people may misunderstand you.

Some may even distance themselves.

Let them.

The people who genuinely care about you won't love you less because you finally chose yourself.

They'll simply learn a healthier way to love you.

The hardest part?

I'm still learning this myself.

I understand every word I've written here.

Yet whenever I deeply care about someone, I still find myself giving more than I should.

Sometimes I succeed in choosing myself.

Sometimes I don't.

Maybe healing isn't about becoming someone completely different.

Maybe it's simply about remembering yourself a little sooner each time you begin to disappear.

Thank you for Reading.🌷

No one noticed the day his life began changing.

It wasn't loud.
No grand confessions.
No dramatic promises.
No extraordinary moment waiting to be remembered.

Only the quiet rearrangement of ordinary things.

The refrigerator, once occupied by nothing more than cold water and forgotten leftovers, slowly filled with fruits, vegetables, yogurt, and groceries that suggested someone had started believing in tomorrow.

The clutter on his desk disappeared.

Receipts no longer hid beneath coffee mugs.Books found their shelves.
Pens returned to their holder.
Chargers were untangled.
Everything had quietly discovered its place.

Perhaps he had too.

The bathroom mirror had changed as well.

The dried water stains that had lived there for months were gone.
For the first time in a long while, his reflection met a clean piece of glass.

The faded entrance carried a small welcoming banner.

The lonely pair of shoes beside the door was no longer lonely.
Another pair of slippers rested beside them, as if the house itself had grown accustomed to expecting company.

Even the colours around him had begun to change.

The man who had always reached for white accessories without a second thought now found himself choosing colours.

Not because white had become boring.But because life no longer felt colourless.

His nights softened.

Sleep stopped feeling like a negotiation.
The nightmares slowly forgot his address.
Silence no longer echoed through the rooms the way it once did.

Then came Sundays.

He used to hate them.

The office with all its deadlines, meetings and endless emails had somehow always felt kinder than returning to an empty apartment.

Weekends stretched too long.
The walls spoke too loudly.
Home was simply another name for loneliness.

Now he is the first to ask for a Sunday off.Because the same home that once reminded him he was alone...

Now reminds him that he isn't.

The coffee never changed.

It was still the same bitter cup waiting on the office table.

Only the man holding it had changed.

His breaks were no longer spent staring absentmindedly through the window.

Instead

he typed.

Paused.

Deleted.

Typed again.

Then smiled at words no one else could read.

The flower shop between the office and home had existed for years.

For years, he walked past it without slowing down.

Now he stopped.

He searched the meaning behind every flower before choosing one.

As if petals could sometimes speak more honestly than people.

His frustrations changed too.

He no longer scattered them across strangers or carried them silently to bed.

Instead, he collected them.

Every ridiculous meeting.

Every traffic jam.

Every annoying colleague.

Every tiny inconvenience.

He saved them all...

For 9 p.m.

Because dinner was no longer just dinner.

It had become the hour when someone genuinely wanted to know,

"How was your day?"

His bookshelf confessed before he ever did.

Dostoevsky still remained.

But beside him appeared Virginia Woolf.
Books that spoke of women ; not because he wished to impress one, but because he wanted to understand one.

Nothing around him changed.The roads stayed the same.Only the man walking themhad finally stopped feeling alone.

Perhaps this is love.

Not loud enough to be announced.Just quiet enough...to colour everything it touches.

Thank you for Reading.🌷

I don’t have the courage to ask someone to stay.

Or maybe That’s not the right way to say it.

It’s not about courage anymore. The truth is, I will never ask someone to stay if they’ve already decided to leave.

There’s a long story behind that.

There was a time when I became so vulnerable that I tried everything I could to make someone stay in my life, even though they had already chosen to leave.

I held on so tightly that they stayed.

But the moment they did, something inside me felt wrong.

I couldn’t understand why someone who wanted to leave was still standing beside me. And I couldn’t understand why I was asking someone to stay when they were ready to walk away from everything we had.

It took me a few months to realize that I wasn’t the same person anymore.

Something had changed inside me.

Somewhere along the way, I realized I had abandoned myself just to keep someone from leaving.

After that, I wasn’t the same in their presence. I wasn’t behaving like the person I used to be. It wasn’t love, and it wasn’t hate either. It was just a strange kind of self-awareness that had quietly taken over me.

The biggest change wasn’t visible to anyone. It happened quietly within me.

Then came the realization that changed everything.

I can’t ask someone to stay, especially when I haven’t given them a reason to leave.

If they’re leaving because of problems in their own life whether it’s family, friends, a partner, or something they’re struggling with that has nothing to do with me then it’s not my responsibility to fix their life or carry the weight of a decision that was never caused by me.

Realizing this was incredibly important for me.

I hated what I had done. I hated how much of myself I had given away just to keep someone from leaving.

It took me a long time, but eventually I forgave myself.

But I also promised myself one thing.

Never again.

The reason is simple.

When you’re giving someone the best of yourself, I don’t think it’s wrong to hope for the same in return.

When you’re standing beside someone, willing to face difficult situations together and work through them as a team, it’s natural to expect them to stand beside you too.

I never saw that as selfish.

If someone is your priority, isn't it normal to want to be theirs as well?

You're investing your time, your energy, your emotions, and a part of yourself into that relationship. Expecting the same effort in return isn't selfish.

At least, I don't think it is.

At one point, I realized I wasn't living by my own values anymore.

I had crossed the very boundaries I once believed in.

So I chose to walk away.

Explaining why was probably the hardest part, but I knew I had to do it.

Because there's a huge difference between being chosen by someone's own choice and being kept around because you convinced them to stay.

As the years passed, I met different kinds of people, and every experience reminded me why I had made that promise to myself.

Sometimes, even the smoothest relationships don't last.

What frustrates me the most is something I've noticed over time.

Some people respond to difficult situations by leaving.

Have you ever met someone whose first response to any problem is simply to walk away?

To leave everyone behind...

Or sometimes, to leave one specific person behind.

I've tried to understand their reasons.

I really have.

There came another moment in my life when I found myself standing at that same crossroads.

A part of me wanted to say,

“Take a week off if you need to. Take some space. But don’t disappear completely.”

I almost asked them to stay.

Almost.

But their decision to leave was so clear that my words never came out.

The only thing I could bring myself to say was,

“Have a good life.”

After everything I'd been through, asking someone to stay just felt wrong.

I've seen scenes like this in movies, where asking someone to stay looks romantic, emotional, and beautiful.

But in real life...

I’ve always found it unbearable.

But the most unbearable part wouldn't be watching someone leave.

It would be not choosing myself.

Because I know something now that I didn’t know before.

If I ask someone to stay against their own wishes, I’ll eventually lose myself again.

And that's a price I'm no longer willing to pay.

I also don't believe in going back to the same place that once broke me.

Maybe that makes it seem like I don't believe in second chances, especially in relationships.

And honestly, I don't.

That's simply my personal belief.

Yours can be different.

I've never understood people who leave when they want to and then come back whenever they feel like it.

Isn't that taking someone's presence for granted?

A relationship involves two people.

You can't decide to walk in and out of someone's life as if you're the only one affected.

Logically, if someone didn't value your presence the first time, I find it difficult to believe they'll suddenly value it later.

Emotionally...

It hurts even more.Because it always brings me back to the same question:

*"What if?"*

So now, whenever someone close to me talks about leaving, I go quiet.

Not because I don't care.

But because, in that moment, my mind quietly flashes back to the past.

Every experience has shaped the way I think, the way I love, and the way I respond to people.

This experience shaped me more than most.

Maybe that's why I no longer ask people to stay.

Not because I don't want them to.

Not because I don't care enough.

But because I've learned what it costs me when I do.

So no...

I won't ask someone to stay just because I bloody want them to stay with me.

Because being chosen by choice and being chosen by force are two completely different things.

Thank you for Reading.🌷

A little pause .

Health happened.

Turns out, Moonsoon isn’t romantic for everyone.

Back to writing.

I have a confession.

I can write stories.
I can publish stories.
I can clap for stories.
I can spend hours reading everyone's beautiful thoughts.

But apparently...

I am not allowed to reply.

Every time I read something wonderful, I type a response with genuine excitement...

And then...

Nothing.

No Send button.

Just me.
My comment.
And silence.

At first, I thought maybe I was the problem.

So I did what every responsible human being does before blaming technology.

I logged out.
Logged back in.
Cleared the cache.
Reinstalled the app.
Updated the app.
Refreshed everything that could possibly be refreshed.

At this point, I practically gave my phone CPR.

Still...

No Send button.

Fine.

Maybe my phone was the villain.I borrowed another Android phone. Same issue.Now I was personally offended.So naturally, I asked my bestie for help.

Yes...

ChatGPT.

My therapist.
My unpaid customer support.
My tech support.

It patiently suggested around a hundred different solutions.

I tried them all.

Nothing.

Then it sent me to Reddit.

There I discovered something comforting.

Apparently, I am not the only Android user living this tragedy.

Which brings me to my question.

Dear Tony...

Is the new Medium experience secretly designed for iPhones?

Because if the answer is yes, I have a tiny request.

Instead of expecting everyone to own an iPhone or iPad...

Could Medium simply gift one to every Android user?

That sounds far more reasonable.

Not every country has the same economy.

Some of us are just trying to write stories without taking out a loan for a new phone.

And here's the funny part...

The feature works perfectly on my laptop.

So technically, Medium is saying,

"Congratulations! You may now respond... but only after walking over to your laptop."

Wonderful.

Because obviously I carry my laptop to the sofa...

To my bed...

To every random place where inspiration decides to appear.

Makes perfect sense.

Despite all this...

I genuinely want to respond to people's stories.

Half the joy of writing is connecting with people who think differently, feel deeply, or simply made your day with a beautifully written paragraph.

So if anyone has actually figured out why Android users are missing the Send button...

Please...

Share your wisdom.

To the balcony...You might just become the hero of many silent readers.

P.S. Dear Medium, if this bug is intentional... at least have the courtesy to send me a complimentary iPhone with my next notification.

Knowledge is attractive. There is no denying that. We admire people who think deeply, ask thoughtful questions, and challenge the way we see the world.

Knowledge can open doors, start meaningful conversations, and leave a lasting impression. It has a way of making someone stand out in a room full of people.

For a long time, I assumed that knowledge and character naturally walked hand in hand. It felt reasonable to believe that someone who understood life deeply would also live with the same depth. That wisdom would automatically lead to integrity. That intelligence would naturally create accountability.

Over time, however, I realized that these qualities do not always arrive together. A person can know all the right things to say and still struggle to live by them.

They can speak beautifully about values while failing to practice them. They can understand what is right without consistently choosing it.

Knowledge may teach us what matters, but character is revealed through what we repeatedly do.

That realization changed the way I look at people. I still admire intelligence. I still enjoy conversations that challenge my thinking. I still appreciate curiosity, self-awareness, and the willingness to learn. But I no longer place knowledge at the very top of the list.

What impresses me most now is consistency. The ability to keep one's word. The willingness to take responsibility.

The courage to act according to one's values even when it is inconvenient. These qualities are quieter than intelligence, yet they leave a far deeper impact.

Knowledge may get someone into the room. It may attract admiration, attention, and opportunity. But eventually people begin to notice something else. They notice whether actions match words. Whether promises are kept. Whether values are practiced rather than simply discussed. That is where character begins to matter.

Because while knowledge can open a door, character determines what happens after it opens. Character determines whether trust grows or fades.

Whether respect deepens or disappears. Whether a person becomes memorable for their wisdom or for the way they treated others.

In the end, I do not think the most admirable people are the ones who always sound wise. I think they are the ones whose actions make others feel safe, respected, and valued.

The ones who remain grounded in their values even when nobody is watching. The ones who understand that being a good human being is not a statement but a daily practice.

Knowledge may attract people. Character is what makes them stay.

Maybe I'm still figuring this out.

But these days, I find myself valuing character a little more than intelligence.🤷

What about you?👀

I’d genuinely love to hear your thoughts and experiences .

Thank you for reading.🌷

I genuinely suck at meeting people.
Like, if a classmate or someone I know asks me to hang out, I'll most probably say, "I'm really sorry, but I'm not comfortable." It has nothing to do with them. I'm just... that person.
But here's the funny part.

The same person who avoids meeting people is also the one who gets way too excited planning things for the people she loves. Give me a chance and I’ll literally make a whole plan, think about every little detail, and if needed... even make a PDF. 😭
And trust me, it never feels cringe when it’s for your people.

A few days ago, I planned a small get-together at my house.Now here's the twist.

I'm always the planner.
Always.
Not because my friends don't care, but because according to them, making plans is enough to make their heads spin. For the longest time, I thought they were just making excuses until I saw my own sister struggling to plan the smallest thing.So... maybe they were telling the truth all along.They don't plan.

I do.

But they always show up.
And I think that’s what matters the most.
We’ve known each other for more than seven years now.

I was the one who made this trio unknowingly, and honestly, sometimes I still wonder how we’ve come this far. We are so different that even my sister says,

"You three seriously have completely opposite personalities."

She's not wrong.

One of them is the sweetest soul ever. She's our positive potato.

I swear I've never seen someone stay this positive all the time. Even when I get annoyed because nobody is replying to my "Guys... which colour are we wearing?" messages, she's somehow the one who makes everything feel normal again. 😂

The other one is just as kind. Calm, genuine, and somehow patient enough to deal with me.

And then...
There's me.
The badmash baccha of the group.
The one who loves taking charge.
The one who acts bossy but secretly just wants everyone to have a good time.
Our little get-together got cancelled three different times within a few hours. At one point I genuinely thought, "Bas, ho gaya. It's not happening."

But somehow...
Our positive potato made it happen.
The weather wasn’t great.
Still, both of them showed up carrying the things I’d asked them to bring.
See?
This is exactly why I don’t mind planning everything.
Because I know they’ll come.
The next two and a half hours disappeared so quickly.
We ate way too much fast food. (No comments.)
Talked about newly designed kurtas.
Shared skincare routines.
Discussed college, studies, random gossip, and of course...

Clicked pictures.
Recorded random videos that probably won't even be posted anywhere.
And honestly?
Those raw videos are my favourite.

I don't know why, but I love capturing people exactly as they are. Laughing with food in their mouth, fixing their hair, arguing over absolutely nothing... those moments always feel more beautiful than perfectly posed pictures.

One thing I've realised is that we hardly spend our time talking about our struggles.

Not because we don't have any.
We do.
All of us do.
But for those two and a half hours, I don't want life to feel heavy.

I don't want to think about responsibilities, careers, overthinking, or everything that's waiting outside.

I just want it to be...
Me.
Them.
Food.
Laughter.
And a phone full of memories.

Maybe that's why female friendships have always felt so special to me.

Even in primary school, I somehow ended up in another trio. Two mischievous kids and one innocent potato who constantly got trapped in our nonsense. 😭

Life happened.
Schools changed.
Cities changed.
And somewhere along the way, we lost touch.Years later, I found another trio.

Different people.
Different personalities.
Same comfort.
Even my mom and neighbours have always seen me with these two. My mom keeps saying, "You three look the same."
No, we don't.

Just because we all wear specs doesn’t make us triplets.
They both have beautiful long hair.
I’m... trying my best. 😂
Also, one thing they absolutely hate? Whenever we’re walking, I casually put my arm around one of their shoulders.
I don’t know why.It just feels nice. They complain every single time.

I still do it anyway.

I think having genuine female friendships is blessings.
Not because everything is perfect.
Not because we never get annoyed with each other.
But because even after seven years, choosing each other still feels easy.
Maybe that’s why I struggle to settle for less.

When you’ve been loved with sincerity, respected without asking, and chosen without having to chase, you quietly start believing that’s how every genuine bond should feel. But ahhh!!!

I still give my whole heart to the people I care about.
But if I'm the only one trying to hold the connection together, I've learned to step back.
Not out of ego.
Just out of self-respect

Anyway..

I should stop here before this turns into a whole storybook.But if you have your own little trio, or even just one person who feels like home...

Hold them a little tighter.
They're rare. 🤍

Thank you for Reading.🌷