I met my younger self over a coffee today.
She showed up early, buzzing with energy, eyes lit up like she knew the world was waiting for her. She talked fast, laughed louder than necessary, and didn’t care if people turned to look. She didn’t shrink herself for anyone. She asked questions without hesitating, like there was no such thing as a wrong one. She said things I wouldn’t even whisper now.
And I just sat there, watching, listening and my heart kind of aching in a way I didn’t expect.
She felt like home, but also like a stranger.
It hit me how different we are now. Same person, just from different timelines. She was so sure of herself, of her dreams, of the world. And I? I second-guess my every move. I write instead of speak. I delete before I send. I think too much and feel too little out loud.
She said things out loud that I’ve tucked away deep inside. Words I now write and backspace. Emotions I used to wear so freely, I have now learned to cover up with a smile or a sarcastic joke.
And for a second, I wanted to grab her and say, “Don’t change. Please. Don’t let the world dull you.”
But that would be a lie. Because it’s not always the world. Sometimes, we dull ourselves. Bit by bit.
We adjust. We survive. We quieten down, not because we want to, but because we’ve learned that not everyone deserves to hear our loudest parts.
She asked me why I don’t say the things I feel anymore. Why I look like I’m carrying something heavy, but don’t talk about it? I didn’t know how to explain.
How do you explain growing up?
How do you explain what it’s like to feel tired even when nothing is physically wrong?
How do you explain that sometimes, you start to doubt things you once believed with your whole heart?
I wanted to tell her I miss her.
That I miss us.
That I remember what it felt like to be unapologetically alive.
But now, everything feels so… careful. Measured. Muted.
But what can we even do now, right? As the world slowly begins to show its true colors, we start to fade, little by little. And we don’t even notice when it begins, it just happens. One disappointment here, one betrayal there, one dream put aside ‘just for now’… and never picked up again.
But here’s the thing. Not everything is lost.
She’s still there inside me. Just… quieter. Calmer. Like a fire that’s still burning, just not out in the open anymore. It’s not gone. It’s just become patient. Tired, maybe. But not dead.
Sometimes I catch glimpses of her, in old songs, or when I laugh without thinking, or when I write something that feels too honest to share. She’s in there, reminding me that the version of me who believed in magic didn’t just disappear. She’s just… resting. Waiting for me to come back.
And maybe this version of me isn’t worse. Just different. More careful. A little more guarded. But also softer in a way that understands pain. Slower in a way that sees more.
Still, it hurts. That ache of remembering who I used to be.
Not because I want to go back. But because I didn’t realize I was leaving her behind.
And yet… I know she hasn’t really gone anywhere.
She lives in the quiet now.
In the pauses.
In the deep breath before I speak.
In the kindness I give even when I’m breaking inside.
In the patience I’ve learned. In the strength that doesn’t shout.
She’s still me.
Just… paused.
And maybe, one day, I’ll let her speak again.
Not like before.
Not louder.
But truer.
Writer : Manya Arora
Grade : 2nd Year Psychology Undergrad (Year 2025)
Place : Mithibai College, Mumbai, India
