Two years later, I lie in the same bedroom.
Actually, two years, two months, and twenty two days to be exact, and no, I am not making this number up. I am in the same bed, under the same ceiling, staring at the same sky through the same big window I have always loved. The same cloudless sky that once felt too heavy to even look at. But now, something feels different. The air does not smell the same. It does not hurt the way it did that evening.
A strange, almost silent thing about healing. You never know when you are becoming stronger or when you are cracking, breaking in. But today, somehow, the air feels different. Clearer, kinder, softer, honest. There is more acceptance in it. There is a version of me here that I never thought I would meet. A version that feels calmer, softer, quieter, and somehow stronger than I expected.
Honestly, I never knew if I would ever be the same again. Every 11:11 wish I made in last two years, was a quiet hope to rewind time. I wished for a secret magic button to undo things, rewrite moments, or understand why some things had to happen the way they did. I thought if I could go back, maybe I could save myself, or them, from some kind of pain.
But little did I know that I had to meet the person I was always avoiding.
Myself.
So yes, for the longest time, I was upset with the universe. I thought it was really unfair. I thought it was silent. But suddenly, I see things differently. Maybe the universe was never ignoring me, it was always guiding me. It was leading me toward a version of myself who had to fall apart a little, question everything, lose things, lose people, lose pieces of herself, just to find the ones that were meant to stay.
Healing never announced itself. I did not even notice it most days. But today, it just does not hurt anymore. It happened quietly, slowly, in the spaces between some of the most difficult breaths.
Life really does come full circle. A full round of ups and downs. Questions and answers. Doubts and love.
Heartbreaks and whatever comes after that.
And one day, without even realising it, everything becomes lighter. The clouds inside you disappear. The heaviness on your chest lifts. The sky looks different. You look different. And the same pain does not hurt the way it used to.
Maybe that is what time does.
Maybe all of this is some kind of magic.
Today, in the same room where I once broke down, I finally feel complete. And for the first time in a long time, I am grateful for the version of me that stayed long enough to meet this one.
And perhaps that is how healing really works. Not by changing the world outside you, which I once believed, but by gently putting back the oddly messed up, spectacular pieces within you.
And if healing ever had a voice, maybe it would scream, “You made it. Even when you thought you were at your lowest.”
December 12, 2025