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I Still Open Our Chats

At night, when the day finally shuts up, I still open our chats. Not every night, not like a proud routine, but often enough that I can’t pretend it’s rare. I scroll slowly, like I’m visiting a place I’m not supposed to live in anymore. Some lines still make me smile for a second, before reality catches up. Some lines make my chest tighten because they sound like a version of us that felt permanent. And some lines make me stare at the screen and accept the one thing I avoided saying for too long: it was my mistake, paapa. It’s strange how the smallest things become the loudest after someone leaves. A “good night” that used to land like peace. A stupid inside joke that still works, and then immediately hurts. I didn’t realize how much of my day had you in it until the day my phone stopped expecting you, paapa. I’m not saying I was a villain. I’m not saying I’m the only reason it ended. I’m saying I can see my part clearly now, and I’m not going to hide it behind timing or “it just happe...

Borrowed Choices, Chosen Life

"Growing up on other people’s decisions—and learning where mine begin."  Snapshot “Take science.” Then, “Do engineering.” I did both. Not because I woke up dreaming of it, but because that was the path laid out: safe, respectable, proven. Later it was friends: “One puff won’t matter,” “One drink to celebrate.” People kept placing decisions in front of me like ready-made meals. For a while, I ate what was served. The inheritance of choices Parents don’t hand you a manual; they hand you momentum. Their decisions become the first version of your life—subjects you study, exams you chase, the kind of work called “secure.” That comes from love (and fear). But momentum can turn into autopilot. One day I asked: Whose plan is this? I chose science. I chose engineering. But I chose inside a corridor built by people who cared for me. That’s still my choice—just made within a borrowed frame. Everyone has a plan for you Parents want safety. Teachers want scores. Friends want compan...