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My Diary Some days, life feels heavier than it should. A quiet weight that settles deep inside, pressing on my chest with every breath I take. The world keeps spinning - loud, fast, and relentless - but inside me, there's a storm raging that no one seems to notice. Work piles up, deadlines stare me down, and my phone buzzes nonstop with messages, notifications, and the unending noise of life. I smile through it all, pretending I'm fine. But sometimes, I just want to cry. Not because I'm weak - but because I feel too much. I have always believed that kindness can change the world. That even when no one sees, a gentle word or a simple act can ripple through someone's soul and make a difference. But sometimes, kindness feels like a lonely road. Like it's hard to explain I carry this kindness like a secret treasure - fragile but precious. It's the reason I say sorry, often too many times. Not because I'm at fault, but because I want to keep the peace, to hold the fragile bonds of friendship and love together with threads of empathy. Today was one of those days when everything felt too much. The city was a blur around me - the sharp smell of rain on concrete, the crowded metro station bustling with strangers, the distant honking of cars weaving through traffic. My heart pounded as I rushed to catch the train for work. I was late. Again. In my hand, I clutched my diary. A sanctuary filled with my thoughts, fears, and dreams - a place where I could be honest with myself, without judgment or pretense. But in my hurry, I bumped into someone. Our eyes met - his were intense, calm, and full of an unexpected kindness that took me by surprise. He bent down and picked up my diary, which had slipped from my grasp and lay open on the floor. I barely noticed in my rush. That man was Raghav. A name that echoed power and success - a man whose presence commanded attention without a word. Tall, confident, and mysterious, with a magnetic aura that seemed to pull everything toward him.