Yes, I am the middle child. But I have never identified with the usual clichés—neither the glue nor the black sheep. I was simply the one no one worried about. The toughest, the strongest, the most confident, the kindest, the most reliable. Qualities that others admired but that carried more weight than most realized.

For the most part I loved how I looked, because at fifteen you don’t stand in front of the mirror - naked - to dissect and tear yourself apart from every possible angle.  Since then the numbers on the weighing scales have gone up and down and I have accepted that they will, for the entirety of my life - through girlhood, through womanhood, pregnancy and motherhood.

Suddenly, the prospect of war wasn’t distant anymore. Friends were being posted to forward areas. Equipment was moving. I didn’t want to ask, “Will my husband be next?” But the question screamed silently in every corner of my brain. “Even if he does, it will always work out for the best.” Because that’s what I married into. A promise. A uniform that stands for something far bigger than both of us.

We didn’t fit the ideal Indian family narrative—no heir, no “ghar ka chirag.” Raised eyebrows, hushed gossip, and unsolicited blessings for a male child followed us everywhere. The absence of a boy seemed like a flaw only outsiders could see. But inside our home, we were complete.

I always had two worlds - Inner and Outer. My letters carried my inner world. I am not great at talking about myself. I had letters to talk about my world. Everyone processes life differently. In all my letters, I processed mine.

Victor brings out his running shoes. I pretend to go back to sleep as he slams the door behind him almost pausing the river stream outside the window. As paused as the air between us that stood still; ever since we watched love leave the room. Stinging bitterness encircles me as his furious footsteps fade away. Suffocating.

When Clay taught me a thing or two - in Seoul! I had quit my well- established career in Bangalore to relocate to Korea—a significant decision! I knew it would mean a reset and restart for both my life and career.

As a woman in the fashion industry, deeply connected to my culture and roots, I’ve come to realize that color is more than just a visual element. It is a celebration, an emotion, a powerful tool of expression.

That was the day I knew that while I enjoy my time alone, there is absolutely no shame in accepting that I need a person to come back home to. Luckily, my best friend became that one person for me.

This letter is a rant, a vent, some questions, some thoughts, some dark truths, some ugly realities, some positives, some sufferings, some childhood pains, some untold stories — small and big nuisances spread throughout a woman’s day and life.

Those 100 days were pivotal to my life. They gave me a sense of identity beyond being an employee, a mother, a wife, and a daughter.

The one who loved to paint and draw, I was just being myself!