basedonarealjourney
This is not just a story of a 26-year-old girl living alone in Dubai. It is the story of a journey that began long before the suitcase was packed, the flight was taken, and the new city became home.
It began the moment I realized life would not be as easy as it once seemed. Maybe it started the day my father had a heart attack, and we went from having everything to having nothing. From spending half a million rupees on trips and comforts, to not even having 49 rupees for a reload card. From full tables to empty hands. That was the moment I told myself: You are a girl, but you must be strong.
Or maybe it started even before then. Maybe it started the day I was born into a house that was never truly a home. A place filled with fights, arguments, and unspoken wounds. A place where I had to grow up faster than my age demanded, where I became my mother's backbone, the quiet strength she leaned on, even as I carried my own silent struggles.
I was the only child in that house, but never truly the only child. I had stepbrothers, a stepsister, fragmented families, and broken pieces that shaped who I became. Still, nobody asked how I was. Nobody wondered what I carried inside. And I learned to keep it in because I was told not to speak, not to share, not to give others a reason to laugh at my pain.
But here, in these pages, I will speak. Not with names or identities, but with truths. Because behind every closed door, behind every smile that hides the scars, there is someone like me. And maybe by telling this story, I will also be telling yours.
This is my journey. The one I never speak out loud.