hayati… breathe with me

It starts so quietly

you almost miss it

a tiny flutter in my chest,

a weird heaviness in the air,

जैसे अचानक सब कुछ धीमा पड़ गया हो।

then it hits.

all at once.

my heartbeat sprints

like it’s trying to escape my own body.

my chest tightens

इतना कि लगता है हवा भी

मुझसे दूरी बना रही है।

my hands tremble,

my vision glitches,

and my thoughts

start running marathons

I never signed up for.

I try to breathe

but my lungs act stubborn,

like they’ve forgotten

the one job they were born to do.

“just calm down”

feels like a joke

when your brain is screaming

and your body is shutting down

at the same time.

the room feels smaller,

walls crawling closer,

जैसे हर आवाज़

मेरे अंदर की चुप्पी को तोड़ रही हो।

my throat closes up

no words,

just fear.

raw, burning, shapeless fear.

and somewhere between

the shaking

and the gasping

and the silent crying,

my own voice rises

soft, cracked, but still mine:

“hayati… please breathe.

tu theek hai… just breathe.”

not magic,

not a cure,

बस एक छोटी-सी पुकार

कि मैं अभी भी यहाँ हूँ,

और ये डर

मेरी कहानी का आख़िरी चैप्टर नहीं है।

slowly

बहुत धीरे

like dawn stitching itself

into the sky,

my breath returns

broken, uneven,

but real.

my heartbeat softens,

the room opens up again,

और मैं

थोड़ी-सी

खुद में वापस लौट आती हूँ।

and in that shaky silence,

with tears drying on my face,

I remind myself

“hayati… you made it. again.”

every panic attack screamed

that I wouldn’t survive,

but here I am

breathing,

existing,

trying.

और शायद उम्मीद

यही होती है—

not loud,

not heroic,

just a small whisper

inside a trembling heart saying:

“कल और आसान होगा.

you’re still here.

and that is enough.”