For six years, my professional life existed mostly online. I had friends, but the distance kept things manageable. Stepping into a corporate office this year was a different kind of hard. Human dynamics are complex. Navigating them face-to-face drains you in ways no algorithm can measure.
But I found my people. Four of us clicked.
Within a month, we built something real. Smoke breaks, weekend coffee runs to Barista, unfiltered conversations over drinks. We talked about personal struggles, a grinding economy, and what comes next. That small circle kept me going.
A few days ago, it broke.
One of us chose not to stay for tomorrow.
The silence left behind is suffocating. Walking into the office is a trigger now. A saved WhatsApp sticker. A passing joke. The faces of the ones still here. The space he occupies is painfully loud.
His absence made me think about every chapter of my life and the people who filled it. Time scatters people. They drift back to their own lives, their own towns, their own routines. You still smile at their memory when you see a stranger who reminds you of them. That kind of parting is natural. It has a shape you can hold.
This was not that. This was an abrupt, permanent full stop. No shape. No warning. Just absence.
I do not blame him. The world is heavy, and we rarely know the war being fought behind a smile. But to anyone reading this who is standing at that edge, feeling trapped, feeling like the wall has no door, I need you to pause.
A rash decision is a blade. It does not only cut through your own pain. It tears through the sleep, the sanity, and the futures of every person who ever sat with you at a table, on a smoke break, in a car at midnight. Your mother. Your father. The friend who last texted you a stupid meme. They carry the weight of that choice for the rest of their lives, looking for signs they missed, replaying conversations, wondering what one different word might have done. You are not just yours. You belong to those moments, too.
Give yourself one more day. One more hour. One more conversation.
Check on your people. Talk about the heavy things. Do not let the dark become the only option.
If you or someone you know is struggling:
Sumithrayo Sri Lanka, 011 2 696 666
Free. Confidential. 24 hours.
Remember, when you leave too early, you take a piece of the world with you. What remains does not fill back in.
