u/loner_who_writes

Heya guys I'm 24 F I do wfh, barely leave my house, and somewhere along the way I got way too comfortable with it 😭 I'm a huge introvert, so if given the choice between going out and staying home... I'm picking my couch every single time. I spend most of my day listening to Taylor Swift, writing random poems, sending memes, and telling myself I'll hit my step goal tomorrow (I won't).Not the best at replying instantly because my social battery is hanging by a thread, but I like genuine conversations way more than small talk. Would especially love more female friends, but as long as you're kind and looking for something strictly platonic, i would love to connect. If your idea of a fun weekend is cancelling plans and rotting at home, we'll probably get along hehehe ;)

Heya guys, I'm 24F. I do WFH, barely leave my house, and somewhere along the way I got way too comfortable with it 😭. I'm a huge introvert, so if given the choice between going out and staying home... I'm picking my couch every single time.

I spend most of my day listening to Taylor Swift, writing random poems, sending memes, and telling myself I'll hit my step goal tomorrow (I won't).

Not the best at replying instantly because my social battery is hanging by a thread, but I enjoy genuine conversations way more than small talk. I'm here only for female friendships, so if you're another homebody who loves memes, music, and random late-night chats, I'd love to connect.

If your idea of a fun weekend is cancelling plans and rotting at home, we'll probably get along hehe ;)

Heya guys, I'm 24F. I do WFH, barely leave my house, and somewhere along the way I got way too comfortable with it 😭. I'm a huge introvert, so if given the choice between going out and staying home... I'm picking my couch every single time.

I spend most of my day listening to Taylor Swift, writing random poems, sending memes, and telling myself I'll hit my step goal tomorrow (I won't).

Not the best at replying instantly because my social battery is hanging by a thread, but I enjoy genuine conversations way more than small talk. I'm here only for female friendships, so if you're another homebody who loves memes, music, and random late-night chats, I'd love to connect.

If your idea of a fun weekend is cancelling plans and rotting at home, we'll probably get along hehe ;)

Heya guys I'm 24 F I do wfh, barely leave my house, and somewhere along the way I got way too comfortable with it 😭 I'm a huge introvert, so if given the choice between going out and staying home... I'm picking my couch every single time. I spend most of my day listening to Taylor Swift, writing random poems, sending memes, and telling myself I'll hit my step goal tomorrow (I won't).Not the best at replying instantly because my social battery is hanging by a thread, but I like genuine conversations way more than small talk. Would especially love more female friends, but as long as you're kind and looking for something strictly platonic, i would love to connect. If your idea of a fun weekend is cancelling plans and rotting at home, we'll probably get along hehehe ;)

She searched for love

the way people search

for God

everywhere

except within.

She left fragments

of herself

in other people's hands,

believing

if she gave away enough,

someone would finally

keep what remained.

No one did.

So she blamed

her laughter

for being too loud,

her silence

for lingering too long,

her heart

for wanting too much,

her soul

for being impossible

to carry.

She learned

to fold herself

into smaller versions

to apologize

before speaking,

to need less,

to forgive more,

to disappear

without making

anyone uncomfortable.

She mistook

being chosen

for being cherished,

being wanted

for being loved,

and loneliness

for something

she deserved.

Still,

they left.

Some with reasons.

Some without.

Each departure

convinced her

that love

was always a room

she entered last

and left first.

It took years

to understand

that you cannot build

a home

inside people

who are still

homeless

within themselves.

So she turned back.

Not because

she had nowhere else to go.

But because

she finally realized

she had been

walking past herself

all these years.

The woman

waiting there

didn't ask

where she'd been.

She simply

opened the door.

There was so much

to mourn.

The girl

who accepted crumbs

and called them feasts.

The girl

who watered

everyone else's garden

while her own

turned quietly

to dust.

The girl

who believed

she had to bleed

to prove

her love was real.

She held her

the way

no one ever had.

Without asking her

to be easier.

Smaller.Better.

She let her grieve

every version

of the future

that never arrived.

Every almost.

Every unanswered prayer.

Every maybe

she had mistaken

for forever.

Then,

without realizing it,

she began

to live.

She bought flowers

because she loved them

not because

someone had given them to her.

She laughed

without wondering

who was watching.

She rested

without feeling guilty.

She looked

into the mirror,

and for the first time,

didn't search

for something

to forgive.

People say

she found herself.

They are wrong.

She didn't find herself.

She stopped

abandoning herself.

And happiness

it did not arrive

like fireworks

or a love story.

It came quietly.

It sat beside her

on slow mornings,

followed her

through ordinary afternoons,

slept peacefully

beside her at night.

She realized

peace

had been knocking

all along

but she had been

too busy

waiting for love

to hear it.

Now,

if love arrives,

it will find her

already laughing,

already whole,

already home.

Because after spending

a lifetime

looking for someone

to choose her,

she finally met

the only person

who never should have been

left waiting.

Herself.

Heya guys I'm 24 F I do wfh, barely leave my house, and somewhere along the way I got way too comfortable with it 😭 I'm a huge introvert, so if given the choice between going out and staying home... I'm picking my couch every single time. I spend most of my day listening to Taylor Swift, writing random poems, sending memes, and telling myself I'll hit my step goal tomorrow (I won't).Not the best at replying instantly because my social battery is hanging by a thread, but I like genuine conversations way more than small talk. Would especially love more female friends, but as long as you're kind and looking for something strictly platonic, i would love to connect. If your idea of a fun weekend is cancelling plans and rotting at home, we'll probably get along hehehe ;)

Heya guys I'm 24 F I do wfh, barely leave my house, and somewhere along the way I got way too comfortable with it 😭 I'm a huge introvert, so if given the choice between going out and staying home... I'm picking my couch every single time. I spend most of my day listening to Taylor Swift, writing random poems, sending memes, and telling myself I'll hit my step goal tomorrow (I won't).Not the best at replying instantly because my social battery is hanging by a thread, but I like genuine conversations way more than small talk. Would especially love more female friends, but as long as you're kind and looking for something strictly platonic, i would love to connect. If your idea of a fun weekend is cancelling plans and rotting at home, we'll probably get along hehehe ;)

Not a single scar on my heart

came from an enemy.

The wolves never frightened me.

They bared their teeth.

They announced themselves.

There is mercy

in being warned.

It was the lambs

that left me bleeding.

The ones I welcomed

without a second thought.

The ones who learned

the geography of my silence.

Who knew

which memories

I could never speak aloud.

Who held my heart

often enough

to know exactly

how much pressure

it could survive.

Love never arrived

with a knife.

It arrived

with open hands.

It asked for trust.

It asked me

to believe

that I was finally safe.

It never stole anything.

I gave it everything.

That is the part

no one tells you.

Betrayal

doesn't break down the door.

It waits

until you unlock it yourself.

There is something

almost holy

about the way

the people you love

destroy you.

Not loudly.

Not cruelly.

Almost gently.

As though breaking you

is just another ordinary thing

they have to do

before dinner.

They watch

the light leave your eyes...

and ask,

What's wrong?

As if they weren't there

when it went out.

I've met monsters.

None of them

looked like monsters.

They knew my laugh.

They finished my sentences.

They knew

how I took my coffee,

which songs

made me quiet,

which memories

I couldn't survive

hearing twice.

They knew

where every old wound slept.

And somehow...

every new wound

found the exact same place.

Tell me

what blade

has ever cut deeper

than the words,

I would never hurt you.

What poison

has ever spread faster

than trust?

An enemy

cannot haunt you.

You do not wake

at three in the morning

remembering

the man

who wished you harm.

You wake

remembering

the one

who promised

he never would.

That is the curse.

Not that they lied.

Not that they left.

But that they left you

arguing with yourself,

trying to decide

whether the love was real...

or whether you simply

loved someone

who never existed.

Not a single scar on my heart

came from an enemy.

Every one of them

was left

by someone

I would have bet

my entire life on

and lost.

She never believed in soulmates.

She believed in strategy.

Love, she'd learned,

was never found.

It was persuaded.

So she studied people

the way priests study scripture.

She memorized

what made hearts soften.

What made them stay.

What made them ache.

She knew

when to disappear

so they'd miss her.

When to smile

so they'd feel chosen.

When to break

so they'd rush to mend her.

Nothing was accidental.

Every silence was measured.

Every confession rehearsed.

Every touch

placed exactly

where it would be remembered.

People called her manipulative.

She called it survival.

Because no one knew

that behind every calculated move

stood a little girl

pressed against a rain-soaked window,

watching love

stop at every house

except her own.

Years passed.

She became everything

she had once envied.

Desired.

Chosen.

Married.

She got the ring.

The vows.

The photographs

that convinced the world

she had finally won.

Yet every night,

while he slept peacefully beside her,

one question

crept into bed first

Did he ever love me...

...or only the woman

I taught him to love?

She searched his eyes

for an answer

the way drowning people

search the horizon

desperate,

already fearing

there isn't one.

That was her sentence.

Not to be unloved.

But to never know.

She had lied

too beautifully.

Loved

too strategically.

Disappeared

too completely.

Even if someone

had loved her

with every fragile piece

of their heart

she would never believe it.

Because she had spent

her entire life

teaching the world

to fall in love

with a masterpiece of deception...

while the little girl

who only wanted

to be loved honestly

remained,

unintroduced.

Looking for genuinely baggy high-waist jeans and honestly struggling to find the right fit.Most of the styles I’ve tried end up looking more fitted than expected, so I’d really appreciate suggestions that actually have a relaxed, loose silhouette especially something that works well for a curvier body type 😭 If anyone has recommendations from Myntra, Amazon, or Flipkart (or any reliable brand that delivers true baggy fits), please share. I really need something that fits the way it’s supposed to 😭😭

Hi everyone, I’m looking for a reliable laptop recommendation within a maximum budget of ₹95,000–₹99,000. I cannot stretch beyond this range.

​

I currently use a Dell laptop, but it has started hanging and crashing frequently, especially when I have multiple tabs, documents, and meetings running together. It is becoming difficult to manage during long work hours.

My work is completely WFH and usually around 10–12 hours a day. I don’t do coding, video editing, or gaming.

​

My typical usage includes:

1. A lot of Chrome tabs open at once

2. Google Docs, Sheets, PDFs, and manuscript editing

Zoom/Google Meet calls

3. Email, WhatsApp Web, and regular multitasking

​

My priorities are smooth performance without lag, a comfortable keyboard for long typing hours, a good webcam and mic for meetings, decent battery life, and durability for at least 4–5 years

Hi everyone, I’m looking for a reliable laptop recommendation within a maximum budget of ₹95,000–₹99,000. I cannot stretch beyond this range.

​

I currently use a Dell laptop, but it has started hanging and crashing frequently, especially when I have multiple tabs, documents, and meetings running together. It is becoming difficult to manage during long work hours.

My work is completely WFH and usually around 10–12 hours a day. I don’t do coding, video editing, or gaming.

​

My typical usage includes:

1. A lot of Chrome tabs open at once

2. Google Docs, Sheets, PDFs, and manuscript editing

Zoom/Google Meet calls

3. Email, WhatsApp Web, and regular multitasking

​

My priorities are smooth performance without lag, a comfortable keyboard for long typing hours, a good webcam and mic for meetings, decent battery life, and durability for at least 4–5 years

One night, I came home too drunk

and sat on the bathroom floor

because the tiles were cold

and I needed something

that did not feel like it was leaving.

I looked up at the mirror

and saw a little girl

standing behind me.

She had my old haircut,

my old face,

the same oversized T-shirt

I used to sleep in

when life was still something

I thought would be kind to me.

She didn’t look scared.

She looked disappointed

Not in the way my mother did

when I came home late

not angry, not loud.

Just quiet.

Like she had spent years

waiting to see who I would become

and this was not the answer

she had been hoping for.

I tried to laugh it off.

I said,

“Don’t look at me like that.

I’m fine.”

She looked at the bottle by the sink

and then at the messages on my phone

the ones I had typed, deleted, typed again

to someone who had made it clear

they did not want me.

Then she asked,

“Why do you keep choosing people

who make you feel alone?”

And I swear,

that hurt more than anything

anyone had ever said to me.

Because I didn’t know.

I didn’t know when I started believing

being tolerated was the same as being loved.

I didn’t know when I began apologising

for having feelings.

I didn’t know when I became the kind of person

who drinks until she cannot remember

how badly she misses herself.

The little girl came closer.

She touched my cheek

like she was checking

if I was still there.

And she said,

“I thought we would be happy.”

I started crying then.

Not because she was disappointed.

But because she still said we.

Like she had not left me behind.

Like she still believed

I could take her somewhere softer.

So I held the sink

and promised her quietly

I will stop calling pain love.

I will stop going back

to places that break us.

I will stop punishing you

for everything that happened to me.

And for the first time that night,

I did not want another drink.

I just wanted to go home

to the little girl

who was still waiting inside me.

I was the child they never worried about.

The one who said, It's okay even when it wasn't.

The one who sat quietly in the back seat, watching streetlights blur through the window, learning that some feelings were easier to swallow than explain.

No one checked twice.

I got good at carrying things alone.

Bad days. Broken friendships. The ache of not belonging anywhere.

I buried them deep enough that they looked like strength.

Everyone praised me for being mature.

They never saw that maturity was just a child teaching herself how to survive disappointment.

I learned not to cry too loudly.

Not because the pain was small, but because I was afraid someone would look annoyed instead of concerned.

So I became easy.

Easy to love. Easy to manage. Easy to forget.

And the strange thing about being the child no one worries about is that eventually, you stop worrying about yourself too.

You convince yourself that your sadness can wait, your needs can wait, your dreams can wait.

Everything can wait.

Except everyone else's.

Years later, people still call me strong.

They don't know that strength was never a choice.

It was what grew in all the places where comfort should have been.

And sometimes, when the house is asleep and the world is finally quiet,

I grieve for the child I was

the one who needed a hug but got independence,

the one who needed protection but got responsibility,

the one who needed someone to notice that she wasn't okay.

I was the child they never worried about.

And somehow,

that was the loneliest thing I have ever been.

Dear stranger,

​

I’m writing this as a fellow survivor not someone who has it all figured out, not someone who is fully “better,” but someone who has been inside that same kind of darkness you might be sitting in right now.

​

The kind where everything feels muted and heavy at the same time. Where people talk, laugh, live… and you feel like you’re behind a glass wall, watching it happen but not fully part of it. Where even your own thoughts start sounding like something against you.

​

I know how convincing it gets. How it slowly turns into a voice that says: this is just who you are now. Not a phase. Not something passing. Just… you.

​

And I want to tell you, from the place I’m writing this from, that voice was wrong about me and it’s wrong about you too.

​

Because I remember thinking I had reached a point I couldn’t come back from. I remember believing that I was simply “like this” now. That other people recovered, but I just survived in a different way smaller, quieter, more broken.

​

But that wasn’t the end of my story. Even though it felt like it.

​

What I didn’t notice at the time was that survival itself was already happening. In the smallest ways. In getting through days I thought I wouldn’t. In breathing through nights that felt endless. In still being here, even when I didn’t want to be.

​

And I need you to see that in yourself right now too.

​

You are not weak for feeling this. You are not failing at life. You are not “less than” the people around you who seem okay.

​

You are someone who has been carrying something very heavy for a very long time, often without enough understanding or support from others or even from yourself.

​

That exhaustion you feel is real. But it is not your identity. It is your state, not your destiny.

​

There were moments in my life when I couldn’t imagine ever feeling lighter. And I won’t lie to you and say it changed overnight. It didn’t. It changed slowly, quietly, almost so gradually that I didn’t realize I was already coming out of it until I looked back.

​

That’s how it usually happens.

​

Not with a dramatic transformation but with tiny shifts. A day that hurts a little less. A moment where the silence inside your head isn’t as loud. A time when you laugh and don’t feel like you’re faking it.

​

And one day, you look back and realize: I survived something I thought would end me.

​

But right now, your only job is not to get there yet.

​

Your only job is to stay with yourself through this moment. Then the next one. Even if all you can do is exist without giving up on yourself entirely.

​

Because from where I stand as someone who has been in that same place you are not as far gone as your mind is trying to convince you.

​

You are still here. And that means there is still a path forward, even if you can’t see it yet.

​

And I am genuinely glad you’re here.

​

— A fellow survivor

She was the girl who stayed too long,

In places she was never wanted.

The girl who read every delayed reply twice,

Looking for affection between the lines.

​

She remembered everyone's favorite things,

But nobody remembered hers.

She showed up for people without being asked,

Yet found herself alone when she needed someone.

​

She was easy to leave.

At least, that's what life taught her.

​

People loved her laughter,

Her kindness, her patience.

But when it came time to stay,

They always had somewhere else to be.

​

She watched friends become priorities in other lives.

Watched lovers choose someone else.

Watched people promise forever

With the same ease they later said goodbye.

​

The hardest part wasn't the heartbreak.

​

It was the wondering.

​

Wondering what was so wrong with her

That love always seemed to have an address,

Just never hers.

​

So she learned not to ask for much.

Not to expect good morning texts.

Not to expect someone to notice

When she went quiet.

​

She became an expert

At pretending she was okay.

​

She told everyone she liked being independent.

That she enjoyed her own company.

And some of it was true.

​

But some nights,

The silence felt heavier than usual.

​

Some nights she wished

Someone would choose her first.

​

Not when it was convenient.

Not when they were lonely.

Not when everyone else had left.

​

Just once.

​

She wanted to know what it felt like

To be someone's certainty.

​

To stop questioning her worth

Every time a conversation ended.

To stop feeling surprised

When someone stayed.

​

Years passed.

​

She grew older, stronger, wiser.

But there was still a small girl inside her

Standing at the window, waiting.

​

Waiting for the love

Everyone else seemed to find so easily.

​

And maybe the saddest part was this:

​

She had so much love to give,

More than most people she knew.

​

But somehow,

It never found its way back to her.

The amount of times I’ve been called arrogant, rude, boring, intimidating, or someone with attitude just because I’m introverted is honestly wild.

I wish people understood I’m not walking into a room thinking I’m better than anyone 😭 My brain just takes a little time to warm up.

And no, I don’t text first all the time. It’s not about liking or not liking someone.....it’s just that constant chatting and keeping conversations going every single day can get a bit draining for me.

Also… phone calls 😭

Why are we calling instead of just texting something in 10 seconds?

The funny part is people think introverts are always judging everyone, when honestly I’m just over here thinking about what I’m going to eat next… or remembering something embarrassing from 2019 on loop.

Someone even suggested therapy once because I’m quiet and prefer my own space.

I know they probably meant well, but it really felt like they think being introverted is something that needs fixing.

Anyway… I just wish people saw quiet = different, not quiet = wrong.

Anyone else relate to this?

I give up on tomorrow,

it looks the same as yesterday,

another borrowed smile to wear,

another role I have to play.

I'm tired of being strong enough,

when strong is all I've ever been,

tired of hiding broken parts

beneath a face that's calm and clean.

The nights are long, the days are cold,

my heart feels older than my years,

I've learned to laugh at crowded tables

while choking back a sea of tears.

They say the pain will pass with time,

that light will find me in the end,

but time just taught me how to lose

and light's a stranger, not a friend.

I'm tired of missing who I was,

before the hurt became my home,

before I learned that even crowds

could leave a person all alone.

So if I'm quiet, let me be,

I've fought more wars than people see,

and lately all that's left in me

is someone I no longer need to be.

I give up wishing, give up trying,

give up asking what went wrong,

I've carried sadness for so long

it feels more mine than where I belong.

And if tonight I close my eyes

with nothing left to dream about,

it's not because I hate this life

I'm just too tired to figure it out.

I gave my heart, I gave my time,

I stayed through storms, I called it fine.

I held on tight, I begged for peace,

while everyone found ways to leave.

In love, I was the almost one,

the setting moon, not morning sun.

They held me close on lonely nights,

then chose someone in daylight’s light.

I was the maybe, not the vow,

the then, but never ever now.

A place to rest, a passing street,

someone to love, but not to keep.

In friendship too, I played my part,

the open hands, the open heart.

The one they called when life went wrong,

forgotten when the pain was gone.

I knew their tears, I knew their fears,

I gave my patience, years on years.

But joy arrived, and suddenly,

they had no place or time for me.

And family—God, that deeper ache,

the kind no distance ever breaks.

To sit at home and still feel small,

to feel like no one sees at all.

I learned to shrink, to not complain,

to hide my hurt, to mask my pain.

To ask for less, to need less too,

because love felt like something due.

So tell me why I’m hard to keep,

yet somehow always easy to leave.

Why I am good for broken days,

but never someone people save.

Why do they stay just long enough

to teach my heart to call it love?

Why am I always almost there,

but never someone people choose to spare?

And maybe that’s the cruelest truth,

some hearts are held, some just pass through.

Some people find a place to stay,

and some are loved, then walked away.

Still every night, I think the same

if I were less, would love remain?

If I were softer, would they choose

to hold my hand instead of lose?

But all I know, and all I’ve seen,

is love was never kind to me.

I gave my all, I gave it deep

and still,

I was too easy to leave.