This blog is going to be a little different from my last few. I’ve realised that switching between literary styles feels oddly liberating. It lets me breathe, expand, and exist as someone who processes the world through words.
Okay, that’s enough word vomit. Let’s get to the point.

Growing up on a steady diet of Disney movies, my idea of life was—of course—fairy-tale coded. Girl meets boy. They fall in love. Get married. Cue the happily ever after. On top of that, I also had the Bollywood version playing in my head: me living in Central London with a fancy big-girl job in one of the dreamiest cities in the world.

Well… turns out that while that might be true in lore, real life isn’t that linear. Not for me, at least. And I’m sure not for most of us.

This past year, life has felt less like a fairy tale and more like riding that mechanical bull—or whatever it’s actually called—holding on for dear life while it tries to throw me off every five seconds. And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos, I fell in love with my so-called Prince Charming. Or that’s what he seemed like at the time. Spoiler alert: he turned out to be Prince Hans from Frozen. That’s all I’m going to say about him.

Was it disheartening to get my heart broken again? Yes.
Did I stay in that phase longer than I should have? Also yes.
Have I lost hope in love? Absolutely not.

And yes, I’m painfully aware I sound like I am personifying an Instagram reel right now.

But here’s the crux: despite everything, I still haven’t lost hope in love. In fact, my many failed “love stories” have shown me exactly why they didn’t work out. It’s because I convinced myself that these were the kinds of “men” I wanted (yes, the quotes are intentional). But honestly, that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

The truth is—I’ve never liked nonchalance. I need someone who loves literature, someone who doesn’t think I’m weird because I listen to Taylor Swift on repeat or because I love Taylor slightly more than I love him. I want someone who understands my obsession with writing, who shows up with cute stationery because he knows it’ll make my entire week.

I want a man I can love.
A man whose family welcomes me as their own.
A man who embraces mine the same way.
I want to build a home where Sunday mornings mean breakfast in bed, taking turns cooking each other’s favourite things.

It might sound like a long wishlist, but the past year has taught me not to settle. I’ve learned that manifestation works in mysterious ways. Sometimes you meet someone randomly and realise you could’ve crossed paths years ago—when you were teenagers, or again at some mutual friend’s event—but the Universe made you wait. Maybe a little too long. Or maybe we were too young, too raw, too unpolished to understand that some edges needed to be softened first.

And yes, I know I’m not supposed to chase love or talk about it too much. But like I said, I’ve never been a nonchalant person. Not in family, not in friendships, and definitely not in love. I’m the kind who will scream “I’M ENGAGED! I’M ENGAGED!” from the rooftop the moment it happens—so here’s to the man I didn’t settle for, but the man I genuinely, wholeheartedly and completely fell in love with.