Karan had a system.
Every few months, he had what he politely called his “mini meltdown.”
Not the dramatic, movie-style one.
More like standing in the kitchen at 11:47 PM, holding a packet of chips, wondering if quitting his job to open a hill-station cafe was still an option.
This month’s meltdown arrived right on schedule.
His girlfriend Mira walked in and saw him staring at the fridge like it had personally betrayed him.
“What happened now?” she asked.
Karan sighed dramatically. “My boss said I need to ‘show more initiative’… while also saying I should ‘stick to the process.’ I can’t do both, Mira. I’m a person, not a miracle.”
Mira nodded. She’d seen this version of him before.
“And,” Karan continued, “I have five unread messages from my mother asking when I’m getting married. To you.”
He pointed at her like she was part of the conspiracy.
She opened a tub of ice cream and handed him a spoon. “Eat. Cry later.”
Karan slumped on the couch, scrolling through messages he pretended he’d reply to eventually.
His boss.
His family group.
His bank balance.
The holy trinity of stress.
Then he said, “Sometimes I feel like I’m failing at everything.”
Mira took his spoon, ate his ice cream, and said, “You’re not failing. You’re just tired. And dramatic. Mostly dramatic.”
He glared. She kissed his forehead.
He melted faster than the ice cream.
Eventually, they sat together, sharing snacks and silence ..... the kind only two burnt-out 30-somethings could enjoy.
Karan whispered, “Maybe tomorrow will be better.”
Mira shrugged, “Maybe. But if not, we’ll panic together. Romance.”
They clinked their spoons like wine glasses.
Burnout never stood a chance.
Every few months, he had what he politely called his “mini meltdown.”
Not the dramatic, movie-style one.
More like standing in the kitchen at 11:47 PM, holding a packet of chips, wondering if quitting his job to open a hill-station cafe was still an option.
This month’s meltdown arrived right on schedule.
His girlfriend Mira walked in and saw him staring at the fridge like it had personally betrayed him.
“What happened now?” she asked.
Karan sighed dramatically. “My boss said I need to ‘show more initiative’… while also saying I should ‘stick to the process.’ I can’t do both, Mira. I’m a person, not a miracle.”
Mira nodded. She’d seen this version of him before.
“And,” Karan continued, “I have five unread messages from my mother asking when I’m getting married. To you.”
He pointed at her like she was part of the conspiracy.
She opened a tub of ice cream and handed him a spoon. “Eat. Cry later.”
Karan slumped on the couch, scrolling through messages he pretended he’d reply to eventually.
His boss.
His family group.
His bank balance.
The holy trinity of stress.
Then he said, “Sometimes I feel like I’m failing at everything.”
Mira took his spoon, ate his ice cream, and said, “You’re not failing. You’re just tired. And dramatic. Mostly dramatic.”
He glared. She kissed his forehead.
He melted faster than the ice cream.
Eventually, they sat together, sharing snacks and silence ..... the kind only two burnt-out 30-somethings could enjoy.
Karan whispered, “Maybe tomorrow will be better.”
Mira shrugged, “Maybe. But if not, we’ll panic together. Romance.”
They clinked their spoons like wine glasses.
Burnout never stood a chance.
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