The first time I felt like myself again was on a Tuesday. Nothing special happened.

I had a plan for what healing would look like. There would be a trip — maybe Goa, maybe Rishikesh. A long walk somewhere beautiful. A moment of clarity looking at something large and natural. I would feel something shift. I would know I was through the worst of it. That's not what happened. What happened was a Tuesday in January, three months after my breakup. I was at home, watching a terrible reality show I'd started ironically and continued genuinely. Something happened on screen that was very stupid and very funny. I laughed — I mean really laughed, the kind that gets your whole face. And then I realised: I had forgotten, for about four minutes, to be sad. It sounds small. But if you've been through heartbreak, you know that four minutes is enormous. Four minutes where you are just yourself, not someone's ex, not someone's grief, not someone who is healing from something. Just a person watching bad TV and laughing. I wrote it down. I sent a message to someone I'd met through Kandhaa who had become a real friend. She replied instantly: "I remember my Tuesday. Mine was a Wednesday actually. I was eating chips." That exchange — that tiny, absurd, warm recognition — is what healing actually feels like. Not a mountain vista. Chips on a Wednesday. You'll have your Tuesday. It's coming.