How do you long for a home when you've never truly had one? People say your home is wherever your heart feels safe - but what if your heart has spent its whole life wandering, never given a place to settle, never given permission to rest? Before marriage, you live in your parents' house - loved, yes, but always reminded that it isn't yours. You grow up knowing you're temporary. You learn to keep your bags half-packed because one day you'll be "sent off." And after marriage, you step into another house, another set of walls that don't know your breath or your silence, a space you must somehow learn to belong to - even when everything feels foreign at first. So where is my home then? Is it hidden somewhere between the girl | was and the woman I'm expected to become? Maybe home isn't a place for women at all. Maybe it's something we tuck into old memories, familiar smells, soft moments, warm corners of our hearts that no one else can claim. But some nights. Some nights the ache is loud. And I find myself yearning for one place - just one - that is mine. A place that doesn't demand I adjust, shrink, or fit in. A place that doesn't ask me to leave. A home that holds me. A home that chooses me. A home that finally calls me back.