"Kitaab ke kuch panne kharab ho sakte hain, Mira, par aage ki dastaan toh khud bhi likhi ja sakti hai na?"
(Some pages of a book can be ruined, Mira, but the story ahead can still be written by us, can't it?)
Tirth said it softly, and I knew exactly what he was trying to tell me. Rewrite. Rebuild. Begin again from the pages that were left torn and stained. I understood the metaphor, perhaps more than he realised. Yes, I can rewrite my fate. I can pick up the pieces and create something beautiful from the wreckage. But rebuilding is not as easy as speaking about it. The foundation beneath me is already cracked, and the confidence, trust, and desire required to build something again have been buried beneath years of pain. Right now, I am thinking about myself. Only myself. Maybe someone would call that selfishness, but if selfishness means protecting yourself from the things that are always waiting to break you, then perhaps being selfish isn't such a terrible thing after all. Perhaps, sometimes, choosing yourself is the only way to survive.
"Ab na kalam badalne ki aur na hi usmein syahi bharne ki koi arzoo hai mujhmein."
(I no longer have the desire to change the pen or refill it with ink)
Glimpse of upcoming chapter ✨