The Hole In My Soul

The Day I Choose Myself

After hanging up the call with Nishitha, I sat quietly for a while, replaying every word we exchanged. It felt like a lifeline in the middle of a storm I’d been drowning in.

I kept asking myself — what next?

Where do I go from here?

How do I even begin again when I don’t remember who I used to be?

My parents had left me a small sum in my bank account. Did I mention? I lost both of them just three years after my marriage. Since then, apart from Ethan, there was no one. No siblings. No close relatives.

And now… not even Ethan.

I looked around the house that once felt like a home, but now it felt like someone else's memory. My eyes fell on my old diary resting on the shelf. The cover was worn, the corners dog-eared — it had seen better days, just like me.

I decided then — I had to save myself.

I hadn’t worked a single day in my life. Right after college, I married Ethan. That was my dream back then — to be a loving wife, a good homemaker. I thought if I gave him everything, I would have everything too.

But now, maybe words could be my way out. Writing, at least, was mine.

I picked up the diary, opened to a fresh page, and slowly began.

9th Feb 1990.

Yes — that’s the day I was born, into a home filled with love.

My father, Mr. Ranaldo Francisco, was an English professor — a man with a gentle smile and an endless supply of stories. He would read to me every night, stories of brave girls, magical lands, and quiet heroes.

My mother, Lilly, was a homemaker. She smelled of fresh flowers and warm bread. She made the best hot chocolate in the world. Every Sunday, we had family picnics, just the three of us. My father would recite old English poems while my mother hummed softly under the trees.

I remember dancing in the rain on our tiny balcony, my mother clapping along as my father watched with that proud sparkle in his eyes. We didn’t have much, but what we had was enough.

And then there was Nishitha — my childhood partner-in-crime. We met on the first day of school when she shared her crayons with me because I’d left mine at home. From that day, she became my shadow.

We spent our school days scribbling silly notes, swapping books, dreaming about the future. She wanted to become a lawyer, and I… well, I never really knew what I wanted. I just wanted to live happily with the people I loved.

Even after school, Nishitha remained my only constant friend. She was there when my parents passed away. And though life made us drift apart after my marriage, today, when I called her after all these years — she still picked up.

And that means something.

As I scribbled down these memories, I felt something stir inside me. A version of myself I thought was gone.

Maybe broken.

Maybe bruised.

But still alive.

And for today… that was enough.