Bra In the Balcony.

Bra in the Balcony

Yes, my bra is in the balcony. So what?

I'm 17, and my balcony has seen me more than anyone else has.

It has seen me in my pyjamas, with oily hair, with a pimple I keep touching, with tears I don't tell my mother about.

I sit there every night with cold chai and warm overthinking. My bra hangs on the chair next to me - faded, loose, like me on some days.

I'm not trying to be bold. I'm just tired of hiding things that are so normal. And it's my simple way of telling that I grew up.

My awkward silences, my body that I am still getting used to, my stretch marks, my fear about the future, my friends who are slowly leaving, my habit of checking my phone again and again even when no one has texted.

This book is not about becoming confident. It's about being 17 and still feeling everything too much.

I tell everything here. The way it is. The way I am.

And one day when I will be 25, maybe with a job, maybe with a different life, I will read this again and remember - this is how it felt to be 17.

If you have ever felt too much and too little at the same time - this balcony is yours too.