Chapter 5: Moving On, Moving Up

After the sudden breakup, I couldn’t stop checking Rohan’s Instagram, searching for proof he still cared about me. I found nothing. I kept looking, again and again.

Every night, I’d scroll through his stories, hoping to see a sad song, a cryptic quote, something. But his feed was full of gym selfies and brunches—nothing that hinted at loss.

Until one day, he posted a short video and tagged me.

He and a girl walked hand in hand under the sun. I clicked in and heard his mother’s voice: “A perfect match—get closer!”

It was like watching a movie where you already know the ending, but still hope for a twist. Her voice, cheerful and approving, cut deeper than any insult.

This relationship was out in the open, blessed in ways I never was.

They looked so picture-perfect—his arm around her shoulders, both grinning. I felt like an uninvited guest at my own story.

The caption read: [Stop lurking like a mouse in the corner, peeping at other people’s happiness.]

He might as well have named me directly. My hands trembled, and I realised this was his way of shutting the door—firmly, finally.

I didn’t shed another tear. My hands shook so badly, it took several tries to delete Rohan from my contacts. I stared at the empty chat window, half-expecting a new message, but nothing came. Only the blue tick remained.

With every tap—Unfollow. Block. Delete—I felt a weight lift, even as my throat burned.

After the breakup, my mother renewed her campaign to get me to come home. “You’ve broken up, what’s the point of staying there?”

She called every night, voice quivering with concern. “Beta, itna bada sheher, akeli ladki… Bas, wapas aa jao.” I could hear the worry in her words, and something like blame beneath it.

My Mausi chimed in, “Come back quickly! I had a few good young men lined up for you, but they think you’re too old now…”

Mausi’s voice was always louder on speakerphone. “Ek-dum achha rishta tha—engineer ladka, own flat. But abhi toh bol rahe hain, ‘Bahut time ho gaya, aunty.’” I gritted my teeth, half-laughing, half-hurting.

As always, I refused. Only now, Rohan was no longer my reason.

I started replying, “Let’s see, Ma, maybe after appraisal. There’s still so much to do here.”

I’d worked at that top tech company for six years. My experience and abilities had reached the ceiling there. But being single and childless was always a barrier to promotion.

No one said it directly, but at appraisal time, married men and women with kids seemed to jump ahead. My single status was a silent minus, like the empty space in the office after Diwali decorations came down.

After the breakup, I threw myself into work, almost living at the office. At year’s end, I had the best KPIs on the team. But in the end, all I got was praise and empty promises. The promotion went to a married male colleague.

I smiled and clapped during the announcement, but inside, the disappointment stung. The AC blasted too cold, and the smell of stale samosas from the pantry made my stomach churn. At the team party, the jokes about "settling down soon" felt sharper than usual.

In the WhatsApp group, he offered to buy everyone coffee. The replies were a row of “Thank you, boss” emojis, and a few jokes: “If I get rich, I’ll take care of you all.”

The group buzzed with memes and GIFs, but I felt like an outsider looking in, just like during those college reunions.

I glanced out the glass window—skyscrapers, endless traffic. The people here changed batch after batch, each both like and unlike me.

Somewhere in the maze of headlights and honking, I wondered if any of us really belonged here, or if we were all just passing through.

Maybe it was time to try a different path.

I took a deep breath, thinking of all the dreams I’d shelved for later. Maybe now was the time to chase them.

That day, I handed in my resignation.

I walked to HR with my heart pounding, but my steps steady. When I dropped the letter on the table, I felt lighter than I had in years.

Years later, I still remember that moment clearly. Many of life’s most important decisions are made on the calmest of days.

There was no drama, no dramatic music—just a quiet sunrise, the city waking up, and me, finally choosing myself.