The Happiest Person You Know
I wake to the soft glow of dawn, the light slipping through my window like a quiet invitation. My apartment is compact, but it’s home, every corner arranged just the way I like it. The coffee pot hums, filling the air with a rich, warm scent. I pour a cup, black, no sugar, and settle by the window, smiling at the street below as it stirs. A jogger glides by, her steps steady. A delivery truck rumbles past. The world’s alive, and I’m right there with it, grinning at the simple pulse of the morning.
I’ve been running again, looping through the park for a mile or two. My legs burn, but it’s the kind of burn that makes me feel strong, like my body’s waking up. I smile as I stretch afterwards, the cool air sharp against my skin. I’ve been cooking more, too, real meals, not just takeout. Last night, I tossed together a stir-fry, the peppers popping bright against the plate. After dinner, I grabbed my guitar, strumming old songs from college. The chords were rusty, but I laughed at my fumbles, the music sparking something light in me.
My friends can’t stop talking about how good I look. At dinner last week, Sarah grinned and said, “You’re practically glowing, man.” I flashed a wide smile, shrugged, and changed the subject, but her words stuck. I’m at every game night, every trivia round at the bar, laughing louder than anyone, my smile easy and constant. When I deal cards or crack a joke, they lean in, their faces bright. I’m good at this, being present, being me. It feels right, like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
I’ve been reading again, sinking into novels with worlds so vivid they pull me right in. I curl up on my couch, a blanket over my knees, and smile at the pages, underlining lines that hit deep. I jot notes in the margins, ideas for tomorrow, for next week. It’s like I’m mapping out a new version of myself, one chapter at a time. I don’t need a therapist anymore. I’m good. Hell, I’m great.
Work’s a steady anchor. I’m a data analyst, and the numbers are my kind of music, clean, predictable. I stay late sometimes, not because I have to, but because I like the quiet of the empty office, the soft glow of my screen. I smile at the data, the way it falls into place. My boss mentioned a promotion recently. I grinned, said I’d think it over. It’s a nice idea, something to build toward.
I’m planning a trip, too. Iceland, probably. I’ve been poring over photos of glaciers and trails, places where the earth feels untouched. I save them to a folder on my laptop called “Future.” I like that word. It makes me smile just typing it. I tell Sarah about it over coffee, and she beams, says it’s perfect for me. “You’re on fire,” she says. I laugh, my smile wide, and nod. She’s right. I am.
The days flow smoothly and bright, each one sharp and polished. I run, I cook, I read, I work, my smile a constant thread. Tonight, I’m hosting game night. My apartment’s ready, snacks on the counter, chairs pulled close. My friends pile in, their laughter loud, and I’m right there, grinning, dealing cards, tossing out one-liners. We play late, and when they leave, they hug me, say we need to do this again soon. I smile, wave them off, and lock the door, the quiet settling like a soft blanket.
I walk to my desk, the lamp pooling light across the wood. I sit, open my laptop, and click through those Iceland photos one last time. The glaciers shimmer, cold and endless. I close the laptop, reach into the drawer, and pull out a small bottle of pills I got a while back. I set it on the desk, unopened, and looked at it. No fear, no doubt. Just a calm, like I’m standing at the edge of a lake, the water still and clear, waiting for me to step in.
A line from a poetry book I found in a used bookstore hums in my mind. I say it quietly, my smile fading for the first time: Jisko jeete ji jannat naseeb nahi hoti, vo jannat ki talaash mein, maut ka intezaar karte hain. Humne kaha, chalo mar ke bhi dekh lete hain. Those who don’t find heaven in life wait for death to search for it. So I said, Let me try dying too.