A BEAUTIFUL MESS

 

A Beautiful Mess........

Advait felt like a puzzle with no solution, and he was sick and tired of people trying to solve him. Every time he spoke about his struggles, he could see the machines whirring in people's heads, ready to dish out the right advice, the perfect answer that would make everything neat and tidy again. But life wasn't a five-star hotel, where everything would be neat and organized. He was like any other normal human being, a bit different. He had his mood swings, his sadness one day was not the same as his sadness the next. His anger was a fleeting storm, and his joy a bird that would perch for a moment and then fly away. He was a creature of constant change, and longed for someone to see him not as a problem to be fixed, but to be able to appreciate his chaos.

He remembered a past relationship where every conversation felt like a diagnostic session. His ex would say, "I know what you need," or "You just do this, and it will be sorted." He felt a tightening in his chest every time, a suffocating feeling of being seen through a lens of judgment and expectation. She was looking for the finished painting, not the crooked lines and the messy canvas. She wanted him to be a still photograph, not a moving film. He knew her intentions were good, but it made him feel more and more like a failure. He was always disappointing her by not staying in one emotional phase long enough for her to "solve" him.

Then came Aditi. She was different from the very beginning. One evening, Advait was sitting on his couch, a bunch of thoughts tangled in his brain. He didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to hear any advices. As Aditi entered the room, she saw Advait sitting and immediately sensed his feelings. She simply sat down beside him, not saying a word, put her hand over his shoulder. She didn't ask "What's wrong?" or try to cheer him up with a silly joke. She just existed in the silence with him, her presence a soft blanket of acceptance. It was the first time in a long time he didn't feel the pressure to explain himself or to be okay.

After a few minutes, the dam broke, and he began to pour, his voice soft and raw. "It's not one thing," he said, looking at the floor. "I feel like I'm a different person every hour. My problems are like clouds, they evaporate and reform and change shape. And every time I try to talk about them, people are looking for the permanent sun. I'm not the same person I was an hour ago, or a minute ago. Are we not two shape-shifters looking at each other." Advait was probably looking for a validation. Aditi listened without interruption, her gaze gentle. When he finished, she didn't offer a solution. She just put her hand on his, her touch a grounding warmth. "I know," she said quietly. "I feel it too. My anxiety today is a sharp, jagged stone, but tomorrow it might just be blunt. It's a mess, isn't it? But a beautiful mess. I don't want to solve you, Advait. I don't want to fix your clouds. I just want to watch them with you."

Her words were soothing, like a balm on a painful head. He realized that all this time, he had been fighting himself, trying to become the person others wanted him to be, stable, predictable, and fixed. But here was Aditi, telling him that his constant evolution was not a flaw, but a part of him to be cherished. He looked at her, truly seeing her for the first time, not as a mirror but as a connected soul. 

She was not trying to describe him; she simply accepted him. That night, for the first time ever, Advait felt truly seen. He was not judged, nor advised. The heavy knot in his brain hadn't completely disappeared, but it felt lighter, less suffocating. He understood now that he didn't need to be solved.

He just needed to be accepted and appreciated for the mess that he would always be. And in Aditi, he had found someone who could do just that, with a quiet strength that was more powerful than any answer.