The first bath after the baby

The first bath after you have the baby is brutal.

Today I took my first bath and something in me broke down inside that washroom.

I saw my stomach and it was empty.

For around 9 months, I was carrying a tiny heartbeat inside me. We bathed together every single day for those entire 9 months. I would rub my tummy, feel the little flutters and kicks, get anxious when the movements reduced and feel so relaxed the moment I felt even a tiny movement.

Today that tiny heartbeat was sleeping inside the room while I took a bath.

I’ve made something which is beating in the bedroom, while I stood there missing the stomach which grew for 9 months.

I missed being pregnant.

I missed that version of me.

I missed rubbing my tummy. I missed feeling those flutters. I missed the kicks. I missed getting anxious about reduced movements and then feeling relieved when the baby moved again.

I missed all those hospital visits.

I missed waiting for the doctor to check the heartbeat and that little moment when I could finally hear it and know everything was okay.

I missed seeing my baby through the ultrasound. Those moments of staring at the screen, trying to understand what I was looking at, waiting to see the baby move, waiting for the doctor to tell me everything was normal.

I missed all those blood tests and glucose tests. I remember hoping every single time that the results would come back normal.

I missed sitting in the hospital for hours, waiting for my turn, waiting for the Gynaecologist to finally see me and tell me, “Everything is normal.”

I even miss the waiting.

I miss going to the hospital with my husband. Sitting beside him in the queue. Talking about the baby. Waiting together. Going out and eating something after the appointment. Running errands together.

I miss all those ordinary days that didn’t feel ordinary because I was pregnant.

I miss planning things, the baby shower, the journey, the birth plan, every minute thing with my husband, thinking about everything, deciding what to do and then actually executing it. All those little preparations that made the pregnancy feel real.

There are literally so many things I did during those 9 months.

And I miss every single one of them.

I missed eating wholeheartedly, knowing I was eating for two.

I missed sleeping on one side of the bed because my tummy needed the space.

But most of all, I missed just being pregnant with my husband. Being in that little world together, waiting for our baby, talking about the baby, feeling the baby, and knowing that this tiny heartbeat was with me everywhere I went.

And now suddenly, everything is different.

My baby is here.

My stomach is empty.

My body feels different.

And I don’t know who I am anymore.

As the blood ran down my legs and washed away with the water, I tried to wash away the feeling of being pregnant too. I tried to tell myself to enjoy motherhood, to be happy that my baby is finally here.

And I am happy.

But I am also grieving.

It’s such a weird feeling. Because I got exactly what I was waiting for. My baby is here, sleeping in the next room, and yet I’m crying because I miss the baby who was inside me.

I think I was grieving one last time for being pregnant.

For those tiny kicks inside my tummy.

For the version of me who carried a heartbeat everywhere she went.

For the belly that grew with my baby.

For the hospital visits, the scans, the blood tests, the glucose tests, the waiting, the appointments, the queues, the food after appointments, the errands, the baby shower, the preparations, the plans, the conversations, and all those little moments with my husband.

For those nine months when we were literally together, every single moment.

I don’t know what happens next.

I don’t know when I’ll start feeling like myself again.

Maybe I don’t have to know right now.

Maybe I’m allowed to miss being pregnant.

Maybe I’m allowed to grieve that version of me while learning to love this new version of me.

Because I didn’t just give birth to my baby.

Somewhere along the way, I also said goodbye to the woman I was when my baby was still inside me.

And today, in that bathroom, I think I grieved her.

Not because I want to forget her.

Not because I want to stop missing those nine months.

But because I know I will carry her with me for the rest of my life.

One day, when I look back at the pictures and videos from those nine months. I’ll see that belly, remember those kicks, hear that heartbeat, and remember exactly what it felt like to carry my baby everywhere I went.

I don’t want time to take that feeling away from me.

I want to remember it.

I want to miss it sometimes.

I want to look back and still feel that little ache in my heart for the woman I was, the baby I carried, and the life we shared before we ever met.

Maybe that’s what this moment really was.

Not saying goodbye forever.

Just saying goodbye to the version of me who carried her first baby, lived through her first pregnancy, felt those tiny kicks for the first time that I can never live this pregnancy again for the first time and promising myself that I will never forget what it felt like to be her.

Little things that aren't little in my head

1. Saving a seat for me when I'm not there. It's just the thought of me before I arrive.
2. Sending me a picture of something that reminded you of me.
3. Asking for my suggestion randomly at 3pm or 4am, simple because you wanted to.
4. Defending me publicly and privately even in my absence.
5. Buying me something just because I mentioned it once on a random day.
6. Knew my palate or things I like by heart and ordering it for me.
7. Wishing me on my BIRTHDAY.
8. Making plans with me.
9. A simple Good Morning text sending in my way.

I never cried…

I never cried to my dad.

Not because I never had fears, wounds, or storms inside me. It just didn’t happen. Never.

I cried to my husband.

About my fears, struggles, all the storms in my head and what not, even about my dad. I never realised how I did that. I was someone who struggled silently and carried my pain with me. But then ‘he’ happened.

He showed up in a ways I couldn’t expect. He stayed and listened no matter how many times I pushed him away. He simply listened. He gave me something I didn’t know I had been longing for the lifetime.

With him, I don’t have to be strong or independent. I can be vulnerable which I didn’t know that it existed in me.

He showed a new me to me and cared for the little girl in me. He loves me with all of his and I started loving myself cause of him.

He became my safest space.

The one who calmed all the storms inside my head and truly stayed.

Love ❤️

If you love someone, you gotta tell them.
Don’t wait for the “right moment.” Don’t assume they know.
Love is meant to be felt, not hidden.

Fight for it.
Show it. In words, in actions, in presence. Every single day, every single time.

Keanu Reeves once said,

“If you don’t fight for your love, what kind of love do you have?”

Let that sink in.

The real magic happens when you step out of your comfort zone,
when you choose to express what your heart feels instead of holding it back.
That’s intimacy. That’s connection. That’s love.

So go tell them.
Call them. Text them. Hug them a little longer.
Before “later” becomes “too late.” ❤️

As a final act of my love

As a final act of my love…

I ran away.
I disappeared.

I saved myself from drowning in your thoughts.
I saved you from being the bad guy in front of your family.
I survived more days without you than the days I had you.
I begged God to take my pain away.

I wished you’d be a better man for the next person.

I prayed for someone to come into your life and treat you well.

I wished you happiness.

I believed you would do great without me.

I hoped you’d find the courage to tell your family what you really want.

Why’s?

I used to wonder why he did it

Why he pushed me away,

Why he made me beg,

Made me cry,

Like my pain meant nothing.

But then it hit me

He knew.

He knew exactly what he was doing

And he chose to do it anyway

With open eyes and steady hands.

That truth didn’t break me.

It woke me.

And with that, I walked away.

Oh, to Be Loved Like That

Oh, to be loved like….

To receive flowers, just ‘cause

To receive chocolates, just ‘cause

To get a phone call, just ‘cause

To receive a text asking whereabouts, just ‘cause

To be clicked in a photo randomly, just ‘cause

To be fed with care, just ‘cause

To fall asleep next to someone you love, just ‘cause

To wake up and see them there, just ‘cause

To have your tears wiped away, just ‘cause

To be given shoulder to cry, just ‘cause

To feel important in someone’s life, just ‘cause

To be reassured, every single damn time, just ‘cause

To be loved by someone you love, just ‘cause

To stay together. To be trusted. To be chosen again and again, just ‘cause.

Am I too good at pretending?

I was okay when I didn’t get to apply to that college. 

I was okay when I found out my friends talked behind my back. 

I was okay when I didn’t get the recognition I worked for. I was okay when I was used as a backup. 

I was okay when people remembered me only when they needed something. 

I was okay when they spread rumours about me. 

I was okay when I didn’t get to experience those fun, teasing pictures with friends. 

I was okay when I couldn’t feel what it’s like to be loved right. 

I was okay when I didn’t get that promotion. 

I was okay when I travelled hundreds of kms just to see a familiar face. 

I was okay when I was told I wasn’t enough. 

I was okay when I was never someone’s priority. 

.… 

But was I really okay? 

Or am I just too good at pretending?

Always

Always the giver, the doer and dare, yet never the one to receive the care.

Always the listener, with ears open wide,
Yet never found someone who could hear me inside.

Always the photographer, framing others' light,
But no one captures my random, quiet nights.

Always the caretaker, strong through it all,
But never let anyone catch me when I fall.

Always the best friend, steady and true,
But never had someone I could call mine too.

Always the problem solver, calm through the storm,
Yet never dared to voice the battles I perform.

Always there for others. Every time, every place,
But never stood still... for my own embrace.

Sometimes I just look at him and…..

Sometimes I just look at him and wonder... how is he still loving me like this?

I annoy him. I say things I don’t mean when I’m angry; words that sting, that hurt and that shouldn’t be said. I can be sarcastic, sharp, even mean. Not in front of people, but when it's just us... I brush off his seriousness, roll my eyes when he explains things. I know I hurt him sometimes. Not intentionally, but carelessly. And yet… he's still here.

Still loving me.

Still holding my hand. Still making sure I’ve eaten. Still standing beside me- not just in good ones but even in sad and messy ones. Still sleeping on arguments, just to wake up and be the first to talk, the first to compromise. Still choosing “us” over winning. Every time.

I don’t know how he does it. I don’t know what I did to deserve that kind of love.

No one’s ever loved me the way he does. So patiently, so completely. The kind of love that shows up every day — in the small things, in the quiet ways. In the way he sees me, even when I’m not at my best… and stays.

I used to think love had to be dramatic. One that should challenge me, keep me on my toes. But now, being with him, I’ve realised something softer, deeper; that real love is steady. It's safe. It forgives. It chooses you, again and again, even when you’re not easy to love.

He makes me feel like I’m enough. He completes me. Not because I’m lacking, but because of who I am. And somehow, just by being him, he’s made me better. More self-aware. More grateful. More in love with the life.

He’s not just mine. He’s my home. And that’s something I never want to lose.

When it Rains

Rain brings different memories to different people.
Some feel joy, others sadness.
Some sing heartbroken songs; some are haunted by guilt.
For some, the rain brings anxiety, for others, a quiet sense of being alone.

To a few, it’s a bright, beautiful thing.
To others, it’s gloomy and bitter.
Some welcome it like an old friend; some feel nothing at all.

For some, it’s just rain.
For some, it’s everything.
And for some… it’s something they never want to experience again.

As for me, rain brings a mix of memories — some painful, some beautiful.
But still, I love the sound of it, the earthy smell rising from the ground, and the way it makes me feel.
I love getting drenched, singing in it, dancing under it.
I let the rain fall over me and take it all in — as if, for a little while, it washes everything else away.

When it hurts, it hurts deeply..

I don’t even know how to start this, except to say—I feel deeply hurt right now.

There was a time, not long ago, when I truly believed I was surrounded by people who cared. People I could trust. People who saw me. I gave them the most honest parts of myself. I loved them with everything I had. I didn’t play games. I didn’t hold back. I showed up. Every time.

And now, it feels like it was all a lie.

The same people I stood by… turned cold. Distant. Even cruel. It’s like they were just waiting for the right moment to twist the knife. And what hurts the most isn’t just what they did—it’s that they could. That maybe they never really saw me at all.

I’m someone who feels deeply. I love hard. I care, even when it’s inconvenient. I’ve never been good at pretending or holding back. I’m a free soul, and I’ve never thought twice about giving that to others. But right now? That feels like a mistake.

It’s painful to realize that not everyone deserves the kind of heart I have. That some people only show up to take, to use, to hurt. And honestly, I don’t know what to do with that yet. I just know I’m tired. Sad. Betrayed.

Still, even in this mess of emotions, I know this: I won’t let their actions turn me bitter. I won’t become what they are. I might be broken today, but I’m not gone. I’m still here. Still me. And I’ll keep being real, even if it hurts sometimes.

Because I’d rather hurt from loving too much than live numb and guarded like they do.

The One Thing

He asked me if there’s something I’ve wanted to buy for a long time.

I said I don’t know.

He seemed surprised. "How can you not know? There must be something you’ve wanted for a long time."
I smiled faintly. But how do I even begin to explain?

How do I tell him that I grew up not knowing how to want things? That in my house, wishes weren’t made—they were swallowed. That we lived in scarcity, not desperation. We weren’t starving, but we were always aware of limits. Aware of what we couldn't afford—not just financially, but emotionally too.

I was truly happy for my friends when they got new toys, clothes, or gifts from their parents. But I never allowed myself to wish for the same. I knew better. I knew not to ask. I knew not to hope. I knew that money went to bills, to essentials, to just getting by.

New clothes came on festivals, not whims. Birthdays were burden. Money had purpose, and that purpose was always necessity.
And so, I learned to adjust. Not just to live without, but to not even want.

That skill—adjusting—became a way of life. I carried it into adulthood, quiet and unassuming. But beneath it, something built up. Suppressed longings, unspoken wishes, untended parts of myself.
Now, sometimes I buy impulsively—not out of greed, but from those old echoes. From the child in me who never got to choose. Some long-denied joy. Some permission I never gave myself as a child.

So when he asks me, so earnestly, what it is that I’ve always wanted to buy—

I pause and think about it.

Because truthfully, I don’t long for an object. Nothing shiny or wrapped or tagged in a price. I long for something I never had the chance to name back then.

If I had to answer honestly, I’d say:

It was love.

It was softness.

It was the space to want- without guilt.

And that’s something I knew you cannot buy.

Beyond patterns: What a true connection is.

You know, people like to explain things. Break them down into logic—patterns, instincts, choices.

They say connection is just about timing, chemistry, or the right combination of traits. Like it’s a formula. Like it’s something you can just turn on or turn off.

But the truth is... real connection doesn’t work like that.

It’s not found in a checklist. It’s felt—in the quiet, in the way someone looks at you when you’re not speaking. In how they stay when things get hard. In how they see you, even when you’re not at your best.

You don’t switch that kind of bond on. You don’t switch it off.

It either lives in you… or it doesn’t.

Funny how those who can’t hold love always blame the design.

I don’t just love you……..

I love the way you speak,

the way you see the world,
your thoughts, your dreams, the little truths you don’t even realise you show.
your smile—
that little dimple slips on your face when you grin.

I love your walk,

your silliness,

your thoughts,

your awkwardness,

your stillness,

your anger,

your care,

your irritation.

I love the way you help others,
the way you notice things others don’t.

I don’t just love you.
I love everything you do—
the pieces you hide, the ones you give freely.

And I love the version of myself that see all of this,
that notices,
that feels deeply.

I see every detail,
and I love wanting more of it.

I don’t just love you.
I love all of you,
with all of me.

It Was Never About The Big Things....

You know sometimes..... shattered dreams aren't dramatic. They don't come crashing down with noise. They just.... quietly slip away.

One by one.

Like wanting to go for a ride when it's raining. Just to feel something. But you don't, because even that feels like too much.

Or trying to eat something you used to love---- and realizing it doesn't taste like anything anymore. Not because it changed. You did.

Not having someone to talk to.. not someone just to chat with, but someone you can actually speak your mind to. No filters, no fear of being misunderstood. Just.... open. Honest.

And the future? It's like this blurry thing you're supposed to think about. But how do you talk about tomorrow when you can barely survive about today?

You see things once you wanted----your dream car, a house, even a small vacation---and all of it feels out of reach. Not because you're lazy or ungrateful. But because you're alone.

There's no one beside you saying, "We'll figure it out."

The thought of building a family.....it's not a dream anymore. It's a fear. What kind of world would you bring kids into when your own feels so unstable?

You can't enjoy a quiet evening because the voices doesn't stop in your mind. It keeps asking questions you don't have answers to.

And the worst part? When someone asks "What's wrong?"---you can't explain. Not because you don't want to but because you know they won't get it. They'll try. But they won't at the same time.

And when you do try to speak? You end up crying. Even when you didn't mean to. Even when you were just trying to be normal. 

People talk about big dreams like they're the goal. But sometimes, a dream is as simple as chasing a bug in the backyard..... smiling, for no reason.... just being okay.

That's all. That's the dream.

All The Little Things You Do......

You water the plants when I forget,

Fix the lights - I fear the dark.

Order food when I skip a meal,

Buy me pads I missed to mark.

You pack a kit for every fall,

'Cause I'm clumsy, always bruised.

Bring me books to calm my soul,

When I'm bored and feeling used.

You plan the trip, the route, the stay,

So I can rest, breath and sway.

You listen to my endless thoughts

and be my best friend - your favorite "we".

You charge my phone at dawn,

'Cause I wake up late - or my mind is gone.

You eat my food without a fuss,

'Cause you know one bite is enough for us.

You let me try each crazy thing,

just to watch the joy it brings.

You make me smile in all I do-

And when I fall, I know you'll be there too.

In Your Room

 The first time in your room.

I saw this place through video calls---

you being you, just existing in it.

I remember the things we said we'd do

once I was finally here.

The plans, the dreams, the waiting.

I noticed when the books were rearranged.

When the wall changed.

When the sheets did.

I saw you clean it.

I saw you fall asleep in that bed.

And now, I'm here.

In your room.

And I remember everything.

This room is special.

Our love grew here - in conversations,

in pixels, in shared silences.

Now, your lover is here.

In your room.

In front of you.

With love in her eyes.

Welcome!

Welcome to My Blog... Unwritten Stories😊

Well, that sounded so cliché. I seriously don't have any idea on what I should do with this or what to post. But yet, I have one strong feeling that whatever you see here, is true to my heart and I plan on showcasing the raw emotions that I feel or seen during my course of day-to-day life.

So, lets get started and do like if you relate.