TOGETHER

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

I thought I was the one suffering. I was so wrapped up in my own pain, desperately searching for reasons to stay sad. But then, the news Ashutosh shared with me completely shook me to my core.

His father had passed away.

When he needed someone, I wasn't there for him. I felt like a terrible person. I'd been so consumed by my own struggles that I hadn't even noticed the ones close to me who were silently going through their own battles. Ashutosh, the one person who had always been there for me, needed me the most, and I wasn't there when it mattered.

I couldn't help but blame myself for forcing him to share such heartbreaking news on his birthday—a day that should have been a celebration of his life, not a reminder of loss. I couldn't even begin to imagine the depth of his pain. How could I have been so selfish?

I typed out an apology, a simple message, but the guilt weighed on me heavily.

"I am sorry, Ashutosh. I didn't mean to ruin your birthday."

His reply cut through me: "This is why I tell you to listen to me sometimes. Please do."

And I knew he was right. I hadn't been listening, hadn't been there when he needed me. His words stung, but they were true.

"I know. I will, and that's why I'm not calling you right now. I don't want to make your mood worse."

"Gladly you're holding those senses," he replied.

After that, I left the conversation on "seen." What could I possibly say? He had just suffered the greatest loss a person could face. I was at a loss for words, unsure of how to comfort him through something so devastating.

I ran to Maa and told her the news. When she heard, her face fell, a quiet sadness taking over. She didn't say much, but I could feel that she understood the depth of what Ashutosh was going through. The pain was palpable, even in the silence.

A month passed, and then I got an unexpected call. I was invited to give a guest lecture at Bangalore Vogue. It felt like a glimmer of light breaking through the darkness of the last two years. If I delivered well, there might even be an opportunity for me to stay on and teach there, a job I had barely dared to dream about.

But how could I be ready for something like that? I had spent so much time lost in sorrow and regret, trapped in a cycle of self-pity. Two years. Two years of letting my dreams slip away as I let myself be consumed by the past.

It took time, but eventually, I picked up a pencil again. My sketch pad became a lifeline, something to hold on to when everything else seemed to crumble around me. I dusted off my social media accounts, cautiously opening them again, and created a new Instagram profile dedicated to my art.

I began posting my work, starting with a few childhood sketches, simple and raw. Slowly but surely, people started noticing. Followers trickled in. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I was doing something meaningful again.

But I still couldn't bring myself to tell anyone about it—not yet. I kept this new journey to myself, using a private account to post memes, and the replies flooded in. Everyone was curious about where I had disappeared to. I'd cut off almost everyone, and now, they wanted to know why. I responded to a few messages, but the rest I left unopened.

Reels were everywhere, and I decided to dive into the trend. I began posting daily, each reel another step forward, another way to reintroduce myself to the world. It didn't take long before I was invited by *Crator Live* to host live online art classes. Twice a week, I'd lead a class, creating space for students from all over the country to interact and learn.

My first class was overwhelming. A hundred students joined, and the platform's creators were stunned by the response. I had no idea what I was doing, but somehow, it was working. People were responding to my art. They were engaging with me.

As I balanced teaching with creating, I found yet another opportunity—*Etsy.com*. I had 40 days to set up my shop, and I worked tirelessly to make it happen. I prepared canvases, coasters, crockery sets, bookmarks—whatever I could manage. The pressure was immense. I had set a goal of 20 products, but all I could manage were 15. I worked late into the nights, painting, crafting, creating, while also preparing for my classes.

I had so much to juggle, but at least it felt like I was moving forward. And there was still hope. A part of me still held on to the dream of being a professor at Vogue. It wasn't a job I had originally wanted, but at that point, it felt like an opportunity to prove to myself that I wasn't lost anymore.

Two years of mistakes, regrets, and missed chances. It was time to put that behind me. It was time to live again.

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Hello guez
I know I am.nor exactly active but I know.the book is coming to an end I feel a little sadness to complete it quickly and then miss writing or.
But yes we will not have more chapters till the book gets completed
Enjoy
Reading