And just like that,
we become people
even our younger selves
would sit beside in silence,
trying to understand.
Not broken.
Not incomplete.
Just layered with unspoken things,
unfinished thoughts,
midnight overthinking,
and memories that quietly changed
the way we carry our hearts.
Some days,
we cannot explain
why certain songs hurt,
why certain people feel like home,
or why we suddenly crave distance
from the noise we once chased.
But somehow,
being this version of ourselves
comes naturally.
Like breathing through chaos.
Like smiling with tired eyes.
Like learning that healing
does not always arrive loudly.
And maybe that is adulthood—
becoming a mystery
even to ourselves,
yet waking up each day
and choosing to exist gently anyway.
— Nandini
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