I Wasn’t Supposed to be a Writer

By Lavanya Jalan

I wasn’t supposed to be a writer.

I had it all planned.

I’d study this, maybe that

something practical, something that made sense.

I wanted structure, direction,

a path people could understand.

writing?

was never part of the picture.

I didn’t sit around dreaming of poems

or chasing stories in the sky.

I just thought I’d do life the way people said you should.

you know, keep it simple.

stick to what’s clear.

but then one day,

I don’t know

the pen just ended up in my hand.

and it felt… right.

not in a magical kind of way.

more like, oh. this was in me the whole time.

and suddenly,

the words started showing up.

messy, all over the place,

but exactly what I felt.

and then came you.

when I looked at you,

it was like my brain flipped a switch.

words just started happening.

not planned, not pretty on purpose

it was you.

I didn’t write about how you looked,

that wasn’t the point.

it was what being near you felt like.

like something in the air changed

without you even trying.

like the world got quieter for a second

when you laughed.

I saw things in you

I couldn’t explain out loud,

so I wrote them down.

little things

the way you paused before speaking,

the way you noticed things other people missed,

the way you made everything feel a bit lighter.

and I didn’t want those things to disappear,

so I put them on paper.

just so I wouldn’t forget.

and now you live there.

in my words.

probably forever.

even if you never read them.

even if you never know.

I wasn’t supposed to be a writer.

but I guess…

you made me one.

By Lavanya Jalan