Not Just Me

  Not everyone around you wants you to fall.

  I sit in my usual spot and take my notebook out, ready to write again.

  I glance at the people around me. Then at the notebook. Then at the words I wrote last time.

  Silence wraps around me, as usual. Noise fades into the background.

  “You are bleeding.”

  I blink—confused.

  He looks away, not demanding attention. Just allowing his presence to remain.

  “Hmm.” I sigh, unsure why.

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  “Not outside,” he adds quietly. “Inside.”

  I turn to him this time, studying his face.

  A stranger. Nothing familiar. Nothing threatening.

  My mind races anyway.

  Silence stretches between us.

  “No offence,” he says, almost apologetically. “I didn’t mean to intrude. You just… stood out. I’ve noticed you here the past few days.”

  I look at his eyes. They don’t search me. They don’t demand anything.

  Still, I feel seen.

  He says nothing more.

  For a long time, I believed this diary belonged only to me.

  My thoughts.

  My pauses.

  My hesitation.

  But today, I notice something else.

  As I sit writing, the world does not pause.

  People pass by—laughing, arguing, existing in ways I cannot predict or control.

  Each of them carries a story heavier than the one in my notebook.

  A woman speaks softly into her phone, her voice trembling.

  A man stands alone, staring at nothing in particular.

  A child drags chalk across the pavement, drawing shapes that will soon disappear.

  None of them knows I am watching.

  None of them knows I am writing.

  And yet, they are part of this.

  For reasons I do not understand—and do not try to define—I feel the need to leave.

  I stand up. Meet his eyes. Offer a faint, polite smile.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I should go.”

  I don’t wait for a reply. I don’t look back.

  I keep my eyes on my steps as I walk away.

  Maybe writing is not about emptying my mind onto paper.

  Maybe it is about noticing lives brushing past mine—briefly, quietly.

  I am still unsure. Still learning.

  But perhaps this diary does not belong only to me anymore.

  Have you ever realized that your story was never just yours?

  — From Writer’s Diary

  Chathurma??

  Next: Writer’s Diary — Note 7