This Wasn’t the Plan

My career wasn’t going as planned.

My life wasn’t going the way I had imagined—or dreamed it would.

There was a time when I was happy. Independent. I wanted to live life to the fullest. I had plans, dreams, and a version of myself I was proud of.

Now, everything feels like the complete opposite.

Sometimes, when I’m scrolling through my phone and an old memory suddenly appears on the screen, I stop.

I look at that girl in the picture and wonder who she was.

She looked so radiant.

So alive.

So confident.

So... me.

And then I look at myself now.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped caring.

I became more of a couch potato. I stopped making an effort. I don’t even bother looking in the mirror anymore.

My clothes are usually whatever is closest.

My hair is almost always tied up.

My days blur into one another.

Wake up. Check my phone. Scroll. Eat something. Watch something. Apply for a few jobs when I can force myself to. Scroll again.

And sleep.

Then do it all over again.

It’s easier not to see the person I’ve become than to wonder where the old me went.

You’re probably wondering what I do now.

What happened to me?

Well...

I left everything behind.

My old life. My routine. My independence. Somewhere along the way, I lost the life I had built for myself.

Now I’m unemployed, living with my mum, and completely financially dependent on her.

Not exactly the life I had imagined for myself.

Definitely not the life I dreamed about when I was younger.

And the worst part?

I don’t even know when everything changed.

I just know that one day, I looked around and realized—

This wasn’t the plan.

But I wasn’t always this girl.

Once, I believed in love.

Not the kind people casually talked about—the kind that came and went whenever it was convenient.

I believed in the kind that found you.

The kind that made you feel safe.

The kind that stayed.

I believed in soulmates.

I believed in fate.

I believed in destiny.

And, embarrassingly enough, I believed the universe had a plan for me.

I thought somewhere in this enormous world, there was one person whose life was supposed to collide with mine.

I didn’t know his name.

I didn’t know where he lived.

I didn’t know what he looked like.

But I believed he existed.

Maybe that sounds childish now.

But back then, I didn’t think it was childish at all.

I thought it was beautiful.

I was the kind of girl who believed that some people were simply meant to find each other.

Maybe after years.

Maybe after crossing cities.

Maybe after living completely separate lives.

But eventually, somehow, they would meet.

I just had to wait.

And waiting didn’t scare me.

Because I was too busy living.

College was probably the happiest version of me.

I studied Journalism and Mass Communication because I wanted a career where words could take me somewhere.

I wanted stories.

Cameras.

People.

Places.

I wanted to interview people whose lives were completely different from mine and somehow tell their stories.

I wanted to work in media.

I wanted to build a career that made me proud.

And I wanted to earn my own money.

I wanted independence.

Real independence.

I wanted to be able to look at my life and know that I had built it myself.

Back then, I was confident.

Talkative.

Sometimes unnecessarily dramatic.

Always laughing.

I loved getting dressed up, taking pictures, making plans that had absolutely no chance of surviving the week, and talking about the future as if I had already seen it.

I was surrounded by people.

Friends.

People who would randomly call me just to ask where I was.

I could walk into college having the worst morning and somehow leave laughing.

People liked being around me.

And I liked being me.

I never imagined that version of me could disappear.

After college, an opportunity came along that took me all the way to Hyderabad.

I still remember how excited I was.

A new city. A new job. A new beginning.

I packed my bags with the kind of excitement only someone chasing their dreams can understand.

I thought Hyderabad was going to be the place where my real life began.

And, in some ways, it was.

I got my first real taste of independence.

I was working.

Earning.

Meeting new people.

Learning things I had only studied about before.

For the first time, I felt like the future I had imagined might actually be happening.

And then I met him.

My first real relationship.

I fell in love.

At least, I thought I did.

For a while, everything felt right.

I had my career.

I had friends.

I had someone to come home to emotionally, even if life wasn’t perfect.

And I remember thinking, maybe this is it.

Maybe this was the soulmate I had spent years believing in.

Maybe the universe had finally answered me.

I was wrong.

The person I trusted most was the person who betrayed me.

And somehow, it wasn’t just him.

My friend was involved too.

Two people I had trusted completely.

Two people I never thought I would have to question.

Two people who made me feel like I was safe.

They cheated on me.

I don’t remember much about the days after I found out.

I remember crying.

I remember feeling embarrassed.

I remember asking myself what I had done wrong.

I remember looking at old pictures and wondering how something that once looked so beautiful could turn into something so ugly.

But more than anything, I remember one thought.

How could I have been so wrong?

Because I hadn’t just trusted him.

I had trusted my belief in love.

I had trusted fate.

I had trusted the idea that if something felt right, maybe it was meant to be.

And suddenly, I didn’t know what to trust anymore.

My colleagues tried to help me.

They saw how badly I was taking everything.

They wanted me to move on.

They thought maybe meeting someone new would help me forget.

So, through them, I met a guy from Mumbai.

At first, I wasn’t interested in anything serious.

I was hurt.

I was angry.

I didn’t want another relationship.

But he was there.

He listened.

He made me laugh.

For a while, things felt easy again.

Eventually, I started believing again.

Not completely.

But enough.

And then I moved in with him.

I thought I was finally getting another chance.

Maybe life had taken something away from me only to give me something better.

Maybe this was my second chance at happiness. But second chances are just another lesson.

Slowly, everything started falling apart.

The relationship changed.

I changed.

He changed.

The home I thought would feel like a beginning started feeling like a place I wanted to escape from.

I quit my job.

And then he left.

Another person I had trusted was gone.

And this time, something inside me didn’t just crack.

It went quiet.

I returned to my city with my bags, my broken confidence, and absolutely no idea what came next.

I thought coming home would make things easier.

It didn’t.

Because home was safe.

But it also reminded me of everything I had lost.

I had gone away as an independent girl with a job and dreams.

I came back as someone who needed her mother’s help just to figure out what to do next.

I started applying for jobs.

One application.

Then another.

Some rejected me.

Some never replied.

Some interviews went nowhere.

Sometimes I would spend an entire afternoon editing my resume, applying for jobs, convincing myself that this one might be different.

And then nothing would happen.

The silence was worse than rejection.

At least rejection gave you an answer.

Silence made you question yourself.

Am I not good enough?

Am I too late?

What am I doing wrong?

And while I was stuck asking myself those questions, everyone else seemed to be moving forward.

People I went to college with were getting promotions.

Some were moving abroad.

Some had stable careers.

Some were getting married.

Some already had children.

My social media feed became a collection of lives I couldn’t recognize myself in anymore.

Someone’s wedding pictures.

Someone’s anniversary dinner.

Someone holding their newborn baby.

Someone buying their first house.

Someone posting a picture from an airport with a caption about a “new chapter.”

Everyone seemed to be starting one.

I was still trying to figure out how to finish mine.

I knew I shouldn’t compare myself.

I knew everyone’s life looked better on social media than it actually was.

I knew people had problems they didn’t post.

I knew all of that.

But knowing something and feeling something are two completely different things.

And I couldn’t stop myself from wondering—

Why not me?

Why was everyone moving forward while I was standing still?

Wasn’t I supposed to have a stable job by now?

Wasn’t I supposed to be independent?

Wasn’t I supposed to have someone?

Maybe even a husband.

Maybe children.

Maybe a home of my own.

I wasn’t asking for a perfect life.

I just wanted something that felt like mine.

Instead, I was sitting on my mother’s couch, watching other people’s lives move forward through a six-inch screen.

And every time I saw someone from my past doing well, a tiny part of me wondered if they were looking at me and thinking the same thing.

What happened to her?

I stopped telling people what I was doing because the answer was always the same.

“Still looking for a job.”

I hated those words.

Not because there was anything wrong with looking for a job.

But because I remembered the girl I used to be.

She had walked into rooms believing she could do anything.

Now I was scared to walk into a room because someone might ask me what I was doing with my life.

Somewhere between the heartbreaks, the failed plans, the job applications, the unanswered emails, and watching everyone else move forward, I stopped believing.

Not just in love.

In everything.

I stopped believing in soulmates.

I stopped believing in fate.

I stopped believing in destiny.

I stopped believing that everything happened for a reason.

I stopped believing that the universe had some beautiful plan waiting for me.

Because if it did, I couldn’t understand why its plan had brought me here.

Maybe soulmates were just something people invented because they were afraid of ending up alone.

Maybe destiny was just another word we used when life didn’t make sense.

Maybe there was no perfect timing.

Maybe there was no “meant to be.”