I was a girl in her twenties, not quite lost but not quite found either. Life felt like a mess of tangled thoughts, like shoelaces knotted in the dark. There was no map, no guiding star—only questions I was too tired to ask and answers no one ever seemed to have.

At home, things weren’t perfect. We were a full house—two brothers, one sister, and parents who were... well, parents. My mother—strong, sensitive, and always watching—believed she was losing me. Maybe she was right. Our relationship had frayed over the last two years, like a thread that had been pulled too tightly and finally snapped. I saw the worry in her eyes, the unspoken fear that her daughter was slipping through her fingers. But what could I do when I didn’t even understand myself?

My father stayed quiet most of the time, siding with my mother in a way that made me feel small, like a child again. He wasn’t cruel, but his silence was louder than any argument.

And then there were my brothers. The older one, soft-hearted and innocent, like someone out of place in this world—he and I were... okay. Not close, not distant. Just... siblings. We didn’t talk much, but we didn't argue either, and sometimes that was enough.

But the younger one—he was different. Always the favorite. Always the “good” one. My mother’s shadow, her loyal soldier, her ever-watching informant. If I so much as breathed wrong near Mummy’s phone, he would rush to report it. I hated that. I hated how he always made me the villain in stories I never got to write. And my little sister? She adored him. Her heart, it seemed, belonged to him more than to anyone else.

I couldn’t blame her. Love doesn’t choose sides like we do. But it hurt. It hurt to see the one person I felt closest to looking up to the one I couldn't stand.

And then there was my friend—my neighbor. She always had something to prove. Always acting like she was better, louder, more... something. Maybe it was her way of coping. Or maybe she just liked the attention. Either way, I never really felt like I could breathe around her.

In our house, we only had two phones. One was Mummy’s, the other Papa’s. And Papa, well, he never shared his. If I asked, the answer was always a no wrapped in silence. So I used Mummy’s phone when I had to—but even that came at a cost. The moment I touched it, my younger brother would be there, accusing eyes and an eager tongue, ready to twist the story and feed it to Mummy like a spoonful of truth. I don’t like him. I don’t even try to.

But what do you do when you’re born into a story you didn’t write? You don’t get to choose your siblings. You don’t get to hit “restart.” You just learn to breathe in the spaces between arguments. You learn to find small corners of peace where no one can see you cry.

Some days, I wonder if I’m the problem. Maybe I’m too sensitive. Too cold. Too distant. Maybe I built walls so high that even love got tired of climbing.

But on other days, I think I’m just... surviving. Like a plant growing in a crack in the concrete—bending toward sunlight even when the world doesn’t give it much.

I was so tired—like really, really tired. My eyes were half closed, my back was hurting, and all I wanted was to lie down and not move for at least a year. But no, my mom had other plans.

“Beta, market chalte hain,” she said, holding the shopping bag like she was going to war.

I nodded slowly, already knowing this was not going to end well. I took out my scooty and started it with a small prayer. Because guess what? One of the brakes doesn’t work. Yes, the back brake is gone. I don’t even know how it happened—one day it was fine, next day, poof! Useless.

But still, I drove. Carefully. Like a grandma. Every time a dog crossed the road or a child ran by, my heart jumped to my mouth. My hands were tight on the handle, and my foot was ready on the working brake. I kept saying in my head, “Please God, no speed-breakers today.”

And the scooty? Oh, that thing has its own mood. It makes weird noises like it's crying. But I stayed strong. Because I’m the driver. The captain. The pilot of this disaster.

We reached the market safely (thank you, God), but then came the real enemy—the scooty stand.

I don’t know what problem it has with me, but it never works when I try to use it. I push it, pull it, kick it—nothing. It just doesn’t listen. I was sweating more from the stand than the whole ride.

Mom got down, looked at me, and said, “Itna time lagta hai?”

I wanted to scream, “Mummy, stand lag hi nahi raha!” But I just gave a fake smile and tried again. After five tries, it finally worked. Victory!

In the market, we walked and walked. My legs were already tired, and now they were just giving up. Mom was full of energy, picking vegetables, fruits, soap, rice—like she had a rocket inside her.

Me? I was just holding the bag and following like a robot.

After almost one hour, we came back to the scooty. I again fought with the stand to lift it up. Somehow managed. Then I drove back, using one brake like a superhero. Cars honking, people crossing, potholes everywhere—but I made it home.

As I parked the scooty, my hands were shaking. My brain was done. My body said, “No more, please!”

I went inside, dropped the bag, and flopped on the sofa.

That was my ride. One brake, one stubborn stand, and a tired soul.

But hey—I survived!

And so, the ride ended—tired hands, shaky legs, and a scooty that had seen better days. The market trip may have been short, but the adventure? Quite something. The scooty stood quietly in the corner, as if hiding its broken brake and stubborn stand. The sun set slowly, painting the sky in soft orange. Thank you for reading this little slice of everyday chaos. Until the next journey…

Today, it was raining. The weather was beautiful—cool air was gently blowing through the windows, and everything looked so calm and fresh. I woke up a bit late, feeling cozy under my blanket. But that peace didn’t last long. As soon as I came out of the room, Mummy scolded me. She was upset because I hadn’t helped her with anything in the morning.

After giving me a long stare, she handed me some money and told me to go out and buy a few things—some elastic, astar (lining cloth), and a piece of cloth. I quietly took the money and left.

As I walked toward the shop, the roads were wet, and the wind was still cool. I was just about to cross the road near the corner of our lane when suddenly, a black car came and stopped right in front of me. My heart skipped a beat.

Not because some handsome boy had come to see me—not at all. The car had broken down and just happened to stop in front of me. Inside, there was an uncle sitting with his wife and some other family members. I was a little scared, my heartbeat had gone wild, but I quickly walked past the car and went on my way.

I reached the shop and asked for astar, but unfortunately, the shopkeeper said they didn’t have the matching one. So I had to go back home and tell Mummy. She wasn’t happy, and she asked me to go again, this time to a different shop.

I was a bit distracted, still thinking about the car incident, and completely forgot that I was also supposed to buy 3 meters of elastic.

So there I was, going out again, this time to get the elastic. While walking, I noticed two boys on the other side of the road. One of them had a sister who always thought I liked her brother. I don’t know why, but she always looked at me as if I was secretly in love with him. But the truth is, I don’t like him at all.

Anyway, he was there, and this time he was staring at me—again. He was with his friend, and both of them kept looking in my direction. It made me feel a bit uncomfortable, and I didn’t want to go to the shop alone.

So I quickly called my friend and asked her to come with me. She agreed, and we both went together to the shop.

This time, we stood confidently in front of the shop, told the shopkeeper what we wanted, and made sure everything was correct. We got the elastic and astar, and finally, I felt like the day was coming back on track.

Even though the day had a shaky start—with rain, scolding, a car stopping out of nowhere, and boys staring like I’m the main character in their drama—I managed everything. The rain made everything feel magical, the kind that turns even a small walk into a little adventure.

And by the end of the day, I had something to smile about.