It was the last week of October, the air a gentle brush of cold across the small town in India. Thira, a beautiful 5'4" tall woman with a naturally curvy figure—not too thin, but perfectly balanced—lay on the mat wrapped in layers like a fragile thought. A soft scarf covered her head, a warm sweater hugged her body, and her legs rested beneath a cozy blanket. Even in the dim white light, her presence carried an effortless grace, the kind that didn't demand attention but quietly held it.
A dim white bulb glowed from the left wall, soft enough to keep the night from feeling lonely.
Outside, the insects sang their quiet chorus, the kind that felt like background music to a life stuck on pause.
A large wooden cupboard guarded the right side of the room. An LED TV hung silently on the west wall. Her mother, Kaurvaki, slept in the center of the room, breathing slowly and peacefully. Beside her, Thira held a book in one hand but wasn't really reading anymore. Her mind had drifted far beyond the ink on the pages.
At 12:00 a.m., the clock clicked louder than usual.
29 October.
Her birthday.
Thira tried to stay normal, ignoring her phone on purpose. But she couldn't hide the small tremor in her fingers or the way her heart suddenly felt too aware of itself. Birthdays always had a strange effect on her—like someone pressed a spotlight directly on her soul and expected her to evaluate her entire existence.
Twenty-seven.
It sounded older than she felt, yet younger than she wanted to be.
She put her book aside, crossed her arms over her chest as if hugging herself, and whispered,
"Happy Birthday… Are you happy? Why should I be, really?"
Her voice barely made a sound, but inside her chest, it echoed loudly.
She turned her head and looked at her mother's resting face. The calmness there always gave her mixed emotions—comfort… and guilt.
"Is this all I'm living for?"
The thought slipped out again, soft but heavy.
Ever since she became conscious of the world, she had felt like she was stuck at the starting line of her own life, unable to run.
Surviving came easy.
Living did not.
When will I finally stop chasing existence and start chasing my dreams? The real ones… the ones that used to make me feel alive?
Her throat tightened.
But she still thanked God—for the health, for the years, for the chance. It was gratitude tinted with disappointment. Healthy life she had… wealthy life was missing.
So was the feeling of true achievement.
Still, she prayed silently:
I'll do better this time. Please keep my dreams alive. Give me the strength to rise again.
Because I will try… again.
Thira wasn't naturally cold—she had simply learned to be. An introvert with a steel wall built around her heart. She rarely cared for opinions, and even more rarely cared for people. She had returned to her hometown for her birthday mostly to avoid workplace celebrations, fake smiles, and awkward small talk.
Working in an IT company felt like living in the wrong universe, but failure had cornered her into it. Bills didn't care who you wanted to be. Life didn't wait for passion to pay.
When she picked up her phone, she sifted through the usual birthday wishes—generic, copy-paste messages from people she barely remembered. She hated it.
Empty attention felt worse than no attention at all.
Then her scrolling stopped.
A number she hadn't saved.
But the energy—the familiarity—hit her like cold wind.
Her expression changed instantly, a line of irritation forming between her brows. After a few seconds of thinking, her mind replayed a memory she had tried hard to bury.
Rati.
Seriously? Him? Still remembering my birthday?
As if he cares. As if any of it meant anything to him.
What does he want now?
She tried to resist, but her finger opened the message on its own. She typed a polite but emotionless reply:
Thank you.
Almost immediately came another message:
How are you??
That was enough to burn whatever patience she had left.
She didn't read further.
She deleted the message.
Blocked the number—again.
Just like she always did.
Rati had a habit of appearing only on her special days—like he wanted to remind her of a chapter she was desperate to unwrite.
But Thira wasn't letting him shape her mood anymore. Not today.
She placed the phone aside with a sharp exhale and opened her notebook instead.
If she couldn't control people, at least she could control the resolutions she wrote for herself.
This year…
This new age of her life…
Maybe she would finally break the cycle.
Maybe twenty-seven wouldn't be just another number.
Maybe it could be her turning point.